American  Classics  for  Schools 


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LONGFELLOW 


BOSTON 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK:    11    EAST    SEVENTEENTH    STREET 

1882 


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Copyright,  1882, 
Br  HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  &  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Tress,  Cambridge: 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  II.  0.  Houghton  &  Co. 


►     » .     I     ■     • 


» »  •  »  »    , 

»    •     •  •  • .  , 
•  •  •     >  •    • 
•  •*»••     •  •  •  •     , ,  . . 

•     •      »  • » »  >   t       '  I  •.»!••   * 


PEEFACE. 


The  series  of  American  Classics  for 
Schools  is  prepared  with  a  regard  for  the 
needs  of  pupils  who  have  learned  to  read 
with  some  ease,  but  are  not  yet  expected  to 
study  literature;  it  is  meant  for  the  chil- 
dren of  the  common  school.  The  first  use 
to  which  a  child's  power  of  reading  should 
be  put  is  that  of  obtaining  a  familiarity 
with  those  forms  of  pure  literature  which 
come  within  the  range  of  its  mind,  and  it  is 
every  way  right  and  desirable  that  pure  lit- 
erature of  American  origin  should  be  pre- 
ferred for  American  children.  This,  the 
finest  expression  of  our  life,  has  the  high- 
est value  in  the  education  of  those  who  are 
to  be  American  citizens.  There  are  vener- 
able authors,  and  there  are  those  no  longer 
living,  whose  works  have  passed  into  a  se- 


51!  (-80 . 


• » 


«   «    c      c    c 


,  • 


»    r 


'    '4   '  '  .',  PREFACE. 

s»* : /'^ ' '''cKre^lac'e'lh  the  world's  literature,  and  it 
is  from  these  that  a  collection  should  be 
made,  which  may  offer  a  foundation  for  a 
knowledge  and  love  of  good  letters. 

In  making  selections  from  each  author  it 
is  the  aim  to  choose  those  poems,  sketches, 
or  stories  which  are  simplest  in  form,  most 
direct  in  narrative,  and  most  elementary  in 
feeling.  It  is  not  meant  that  the  writing 
is  always  about  children,  or  expressly  pre- 
pared for  them ;  on  the  contrary,  poems 
about  children  which  appeal  primarily  to  a 
mature  interest  in  children  are  omitted, 
and  the  only  questions  asked  in  the  selec- 
tion are.  Is  it  intelligible  to  children  ?  is  it 
interesting  to  them?  is  it  noble  and  wor- 
thy? The  child  who  makes  the  acquaint- 
ance of  an  author  through  these  pages  will 
have  read  those  parts  which  a  judicious 
parent  or  teacher  would  first  select  if  read- 
ing aloud  the  complete  works ;  and  it  is 
hoped  that  a  taste  formed  upon  these  writ- 
ings will  afterward  demand  the  productions 
which  attract  the  more  mature  mind. 


'  '      '      >    '       >      ,  >    . 


>    >  >  I 


»  -  C      J  J  -J       CI  .      ,    •       >  >     '       .      » 


*     9  J  O    3 


>     •> 


CONTENTS. 

— • — 

PAGE 

Henry  Wadsavorth  Longfellow        ...  7 

The  Children's  Hour 13 

The  Windmill 15 

Maiden  and  Weathercock        .        .        .        .  IG 

The  Village  Blacksmith 17 

From  my  Arm-chair 20 

Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns  of  Bethlehem       .  23 

The  Phantom  Ship 25 

Pegasus  in  Pound       .        .        .        ,        ,        .  27«^ 

The  Sermon  of  St.  Francis    .  ...  30 

Walter  von  der  Vogelweid         .        ,        .        .31 

The  Bell  of  Atri 34 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert 38 

The  Emperor's  Bird's-nest     .        .        .        ,  40 

Victor  Galbraith 42 

The  Ropewalk 44 

Santa  Filomena  47 

The  Three  Kings 49 


•     »    »      •    » 


*  # 


vi  »,  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Castle  by  the  Sea 52 

The  Fiftieth  Birth-day  of  Agassiz  ...  54 

Maidenhood         . 55 

The  Poet  and  his  Songs 57 

The  Skeleton  in  Armor 59 

The  Wreck  of  the  Hesperus  ....  65 

Paul  Revere's  Ride 69 

The  Song  of  Hiawatha 74 

Hiawatha's  Childhood 75 

Hiawatha's  Sailing 83 

Hiawatha's  Fishinor 87 


-o 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Portrait  of  Henry  W.  Longfellow  Frontispiece. 

"  Am  I  a  king,  that  I  should  call  my  own 
This  splendid  ebon  throne  ?  " 21 

"  On  his  tomb  the  birds  were  feasted 
By  the  children  of  the  choir  " 32 

"  Ships  rejoicing  in  the  breeze  " 44 

"Hast  thou  seen  that  lordly  castle, 
That  castle  by  the  sea?" 54 

"  I,  with  my  childish  hand, 
Tamed  the  gerfalcon  " 64 

*'And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm  "        .        .        .        73 

"And  as  he  drew  it  in,  it  tugged  so 
That  the  birch  canoe  stood  endwise  "   .        .        .        .89 


HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

A  VISITOR  to  Cambridge,  in  Massachusetts,  is 
very  sure  to  make  his  first   question.  Where  is 
Mr.  LongfeUow's  house  ?    and  any  one  whom  he 
meets  wiU   be   able   to    give   the    answer.     The 
ample,  dignified  mansion,  buHt  in  Colonial  days, 
and  famous  as  the  headquarters  of  Washing-ton 
during  the  first  year  of  the  War  for  Indepen- 
dence, is  in  the  midst  of  broad  fields,  and  looks 
across  meadows  to  the  winding  Charles  and  the 
gentle  hills  beyond.     Great  elms,  fragrant  lilacs 
and  syringas,  stand  by  the  path  which  leads  to 
the  door  ;  and  as  one  passes  along  the  street,  he 
may  often  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  poet  pacing 
up   and    down    the    shaded   veranda   which    is 
screened  by  the  shrubbery. 


,     .      e     •     ••    • 


•8'  "  J^lfl^Ey   WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


•  •  •  • 

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<      » 


i  STcte  'cah\e,  in  the  summer  of  1837,  a  slight, 
studious-looking  young  man,  who  lifted  the  heavy 
brass  knocker,  which  hung  then  as  it  does  now 
upon  the  front  door,  and  very  likely  thought  of 
the  great  general  as  he  let  it  fall  with  a  clang. 
He  had  called  to  see  the  owner  of  the  house,  Mrs. 
Andrew  Craigie,  widow  of  the  a23othecary-gen- 
eral  of  the  Continental  Army  in  the  Revolution. 
The  visitor  asked  if  there  was  a  room  in  her 
house  which  he  could  occupy.  The  stately  old 
lady,  looking  all  the  more  dignified  for  the  tur- 
ban which  was  wound  about  her  head,  answered, 
as  she  looked  at  the  youthful  figure,  — 

"I  no  longer  lodge  students." 

"  But  I  am  not  a  student ;  I  am  a  professor  in 
the  University." 

"  A  professor  ?  "  She  looked  curiously  at  one 
so  like  most  students  in  appearance. 

"  I  am  Professor  Longfellow,"  he  said. 

"  All  1  that  is  different.  I  will  shoAV  you  w^hat 
there  is.  She  led  him  up  the  broad  staircase, 
and,  proud  of  her  house,  opened  one  spacious 
room  after  another,  only  to  close  the  door  of 
each,  saying,  "  You  cannot  have  that,"  until  at 
leno'th  she  led  him  into  the  southeast  corner-room 
of  the  second  story.  "  This  was  General  Wash- 
ington's chamber,"  she  said.  "You  may  have 
this  ;  "  and  here  he  gladly  set  up  his  home.  The 
house  was  a  large  one,  and  already  Edward  Ever- 
ett and  Jared  Sparks  had  lived  here.    Mr.  Sparks 


HENRY   WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW.        9 

was  engaged,  singularly  enough,  upon  the  Life 
and  Writings  of  Washington  in  the  very  house 
which  Washington  had  occupied.  Afterwards, 
when  Mr.  Longfellow  was  keeping  house  here, 
Mr.  Joseph  E.  Worcester,  the  maker  of  the  dic- 
tionary, shared  it  with  him,  for  there  was  room 
for  each  family  to  keep  a  separate  establishment, 
and  even  a  third  could  have  found  independent 
quarters.  When  Mrs.  Craigie  died  Mr.  Long- 
fellow bought  the  house,  and  it  has  remained  his 
ever  since. 

When  he  came  to  Cambridge  to  be  Professor 
of  Modern  Languages  and  Literature  in  Harvard 
College  he  was  thirty  years  old.  He  was  but 
eighteen  when  he  graduated  at  Bowdoin  College, 
in  the  class  to  w^hich  Nathaniel  HaAUhorne  also 
belonged,  and  he  had  given  such  promise  that  he 
was  almost  immediately  called  to  be  professor  at 
Bowdoin.  He  accepted  the  appointment  on  con- 
dition that  he  might  have  three  years  of  travel 
and  study  in  Europe.  The  immediate  result  of 
his  life  abroad  was  in  some  translations,  chiefly 
from  the  Spanish,  in  some  critical  papers,  and  in 
Outre  Mer  [Over  Seas],  his  first  prose  work.  He 
continued  at  Bowdoin  until  1835,  when  he  was 
invited  to  Harvard.  Again  he  went  to  Europe 
for  further  study  and  travel,  and  after  his  return 
spent  seventeen  years  as  professor. 

Two  years   after  he  had   begun   to  teach  in 
Harvard  College  he  published   Hyperion,  a  Ro- 


10      HENRY    WADS  WORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

mance.  Hyperion,  in  classic  mythology,  is  the 
child  of  heaven  and  earth,  and  in  this  romance 
the  story  is  told  of  a  young  man  who  had  eartlily 
sorrows  and  fortunes,  but  heavenly  desires  and 
hopes.  It  contains  many  delightful  legends  and 
fancies  which  travel  and  student  life  in  Europe 
had  brought  to  the  poet's  knowledge,  and  which 
he  had  brought  back  to  his  countrymen  in  Amer- 
ica. Once  afterward,  in  1849,  he  published  a  ro- 
mance of  New  England,  Kavanagh  ;  but  in  the 
same  year  that  saw  Hyperion  there  appeared  a 
thin  volume  of  poems  entitled  Voices  of  the  Night ; 
and  after  that  Mr.  Longfellow  continued  to  pub- 
lish volumes  of  poetry,  sometimes  a  book  being 
devoted  to  a  single  poem,  as  Evangeline,  or  The 
Courtship  of  Miles  Standish,  or  Hiawatha,  more 
often  containing  a  collection  of  shorter  poems, 
and  sometimes,  as  in  the  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn, 
a  number  of  poems  pleasantly  woven  into  a  story 
in  verse. 

The  house  in  which  Mr.  Longfellow  lives  is 
full  of  suggestion  of  his  work.  "  The  study,"  as 
some  one  has  said,  "  is  a  busy  literary  man's 
workshop :  the  table  is  piled  with  pamphlets  and 
papers  in  orderly  confusion  ;  a  high  desk  in  one 
corner  suggests  a  practice  of  standing  while  writ- 
ing, and  gives  a  hint  of  one  secret  of  the  poet's 
singularly  erect  form  at  an  age  when  the  body 
generally  begins  to  stoop  and  the  shoulders  to 
grow  round  ;  an  orange-tree  stands  in  one  win- 


HENRY   WADSWORTn  LONGFELLOW.      11 

dow  ;  near  it  a  stuffed  stork  keeps  watch  ;  on  the 
table  is  Coleridge's  ink-stand  ;  upon  the  walls  are 
crayon  likenesses  of  Emerson,  Hawthorne,  and 
Sumner."  Here,  too,  is  the  chair  made  from  the 
wood  of  the  sj^reading  chestnut-tree  under  which 
the  village  smithy  stood,  and  given  to  the  poet 
by  the  children  of  Cambridge  ;  here  is  the  pen 
presented  by  "beautiful  Helen  of  Maine,"  the 
old  Danish  song-book  and  the  antique  pitcher  ; 
upon  the  staircase  is  the  old  clock,  which 

"  Points  and  beckons  with  its  hands;  " 

one  looks  out  from  the  chamber  windows  across 
the  meadows  upon  the  gentle  Charles,  — 

'*  Friends  I  love  have  dwelt  beside  thee, 
And  have  made  thy  margin  dear ; " 

following  the  river  one  sees  the  trees  and  chim- 
neys of  Elmwood,  and  perhaps  a  flight  of 

"  herons  winging  their  way 
O'er  the  poet's  house  in  the  Elmwood  thickets; " 

while  farther  still  one  catches  sight  of  the  white 
tower  of  Mount  Auburn  and  thinks  of  the  graves 
there  to  which  so  many  of  the  poet's  friends  have 
been  borne.  It  would  be  a  pleasant  task  to  read 
closely  in  Mr.  Longfellow's  poems  and  discover 
all  the  kind  words  which  he  has  written  of  his 
friends.  A  man  is  known  by  the  company  he 
keeps.  How  fine  must  be  that  nature  which 
gathers  into  immortal  verse  the  friendship  of 
Agassiz,  Hawthorne,  Lowell,  Smnner,  Whittier, 


1 2  EENR  T  WADS  WORTH  L  ONGFELL  0  W. 

Tennyson,  Irving ;  and  chooses  for  companionship 
among  the  dead  such  names  as  Chaucer,  Dante, 
Keats,  Milton,  Shakespeare.  All  these  names, 
and  more,  will  be  found  strung  as  beads  upon  the 
golden  thread  of  Longfellow's  verse. 

After  all,  the  old  house  where  the  poet  lives  is 
most  closely  connected  with  his  poems,  because  it 
is  a  home.  Here  his  children  have  grown,  and 
out  of  its  chambers  have  issued  those  undying 
poems  which  sing  the  deep  life  of  the  fireside. 
In  The  Golden  Mile-Stone  he  sing-s  :  — 

"Each  man's  chimney  is  his  Golden  Mile-Stone; 
Is  the  central  point,  from  which  he  measures 

Every  distance 
Through  the  gateways  of  the  world  around  him ; " 

and  the  secret  of  Mr.  Longfellow's  power  is  in 
the  perfect  art  with  which  he  has  brought  all  the 
treasures  of  the  old  world  stories,  and  all  the 
hopes  of  the  new,  to  this  central  point ;  his  own 
fireside  has  fed  the  flames  of  poetic  genius,  and 
kept  them  burning  steadily  and  purely. 

Mr.  Longfellow  was  born  in  Portland,  Maine, 
in  1807,  and  his  birthday  is  celebrated  each  year 
on  the  27th  of  February. 


AMERICAN  CLASSICS  FOR  SCHOOLS. 
LONGFELLOW. 


THE   CHILDREN'S   HOUR. 

Between"  the  dark  and  the  daylight, 
When  the  night  is  beginning  to  lower, 

Comes  a  pause  in  the  day's  occupations, 
That  is  known  as  the  Children's  Hour. 

I  hear  in  the  chamber  above  me 

The  patter  of  little  feet, 
The  sound  of  a  door  that  is  opened, 

And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamjDlight, 
Descending  the  broad  hall  stair. 

Grave  Alice,  and  laughing  Allegra, 
And  Edith  ^vith  golden  hair. 

A  whisper,  and  then  a  silence : 
Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes, 

They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  me  by  surprise. 


14  THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUR. 

A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 

A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall ! 
By  three  doors  left  unguarded, 

They  enter  my  castle  wall ! 

They  climb  up  into  my  turret, 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair  ; 

If  I  try  to  escape,  they  surround  me  ; 
They  seem  to  be  everywhere. 

They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses, 
Their  arms  about  me  entwine, 

Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen  ^ 
In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhine  ! 

Do  you  think,  O  blue-eyed  banditti,^ 
Because  you  have  scaled  the  wall, 

Such  an  old  moustache  ^  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all  ? 

I  have  you  fast  in  my  fortress, 

And  will  not  let  you  depart, 
But  put  you  down  into  the  dungeon  ' 

In  the  round-tower  of  my  heart. 

1  Near  Bingen  on  the  Rhine  is  a  little  square  Mouse- 
Tower,  so  called  from  an  old  word  meaning  toll,  since  it 
was  used  as  a  toll-house ;  but  there  is  an  old  tradition 
that  a  certain  Bishop  Hatto,  who  had  been  cruel  to  the 
people,  was  attacked  in  the  tower  by  a  great  army  of  rats 
and  mice.     See  Southey's  famous  poem,  Bishop  Hatto, 

2  An  Italian  word  for  bands  of  robbers. 

^  A  translation  of  the  French  phrase  vieux  moustache, 
which  is  used  of  a  veteran  soldier. 


THE    WINDMILL  15 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever, 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day, 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin, 

And  moulder  in  dust  away ! 


THE  WINDMILL. 

Behold  !  a  giant  am  I ! 

Aloft  here  in  my  tower. 

With  my  granite  jaws  I  devour 

The  maize,  and  the  wheat,  and  the  rye, 
And  o-riiid  them  into  flour. 

I  look  down  over  the  farms  ; 
In  the  fields  of  grain  I  see 
The  harvest  that  is  to  be. 

And  I  fling  to  the  air  my  arms, 
For  I  know  it  is  all  for  me. 

I  hear  the  sound  of  flails 

Far  off,  from  the  threshing-floors 
In  barns,  with  their  open  doors. 

And  the  A^dnd,  the  wind  in  my  sails. 
Louder  and  louder  roars. 

I  stand  here  in  my  place. 

With  my  foot  on  the  rock  below, 
And  whichever  way  it  may  blow 

I  meet  it  face  to  face, 

As  a  brave  man  meets  his  foe. 


16  MAIDEN  AND    WEATHERCOCK. 

And  while  we  wrestle  and  strive 
My  master,  the  miller,  stands 
And  feeds  me  with  his  hands  ; 

For  he  knows  who  makes  him  thrive, 
Who  makes  him  lord  of  lands. 

On  Sundays  I  take  my  rest ; 
Church-going  bells  begin 
Their  low,  melodious  din ; 

I  cross  my  arms  on  my  breast, 
And  all  is  peace  within. 


MAIDEN  AND  WEATHERCOCK. 

MAIDEN. 

0  Weathercock  on  the  village  spire, 
With  your  golden  feathers  all  on  lire, 
Tell  me,  what  can  you  see  from  your  perch 
Above  there  over  the  tower  of  the  church  ? 

WEATHERCOCK. 

1  can  see  the  roofs  and  the  streets  below, 
And  the  people  moving  to  and  fro. 

And  beyond,  without  either  roof  or  street. 
The  great  salt  sea,  and  the  fisherman's  fleet. 

I  can  see  a  ship  come  sailing  in 
Beyond  the  headlands  and  harbor  of  Lynn, 
And  a  young  man  standing  on  the  deck. 
With  a  silken  kerchief  round  his  neck. 


•      THE    VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH.  17 

Now  he  is  pressing  it  to  his  lips, 
And  now  he  is  kissing  liis  finger-tips, 
And  now  he  is  lifting  and  waving  his  hand, 
And  blowing  the  kisses  toward  the  land. 

MAIDEN. 

Ah,  that  is  the  ship  from  over  the  sea, 
That  is  bringing  my  lover  back  to  me. 
Bringing  my  lover  so  fond  and  true, 
Who  does  not  change  with  the  wind  like  you. 

WEATHERCOCK. 

If  I  change  with  all  the  winds  that  blow, 
It  is  only  because  they  made  me  so. 
And  people  would  think  it  wondrous  strange, 
If  I,  a  Weathercock,  should  not  change. 

O  pretty  Maiden,  so  fine  and  fair. 

With  your  dreamy  eyes  and  your  golden  hair. 

When  you  and  your  lover  meet  to-day 

You  will  thank  me  for  looking  some  other  way. 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

Under  a  spreading  chestnut-tree  -^ 
The  village  smithy  stands  ; 

1  The  spreading  horse-chestnut-tree  and  the  smithy  be- 
neath it  stood  in  Brattle  Street,  near  Story  Street,  Cam- 
bridge.    The  smithy  disappeared  several  years  a.2:o,  and 
the  tree  was  cut  down  in  1876,  because  it  was  claimed 
2 


18  THE    VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he, 
With  large  and  sinewy  hands  ; 

And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long, 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  w^ith  honest  sweat, 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night, 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow  ; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge, 
With  measured  beat  and  slow. 

Like  a  sexton  ringing  the  village  bell. 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door  ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar. 
And  watch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing-floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church, 
And  sits  among  his  bovs  ; 

that  its  loAV  branches  endangered  drivers  upon  high  loads 
passing  beneath  it.  A  chair  was  afterward  made  from 
some  of  the  wood  of  the  tree  and  given  to  Mr.  Longfel- 
low.    See  his  poem  in  this  volume,  page  20. 


THE   VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH.  19 

He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 
He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 

Singing  in  the  village  choir, 
And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  liim  like  her  mother's  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more, 

How  in  the  grave  she  lies ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing, 
Onward  through  life  he  goes ; 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begun, 
Each  evening  sees  it  close  ; 

Something  attempted,  something  done, 
Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend, 
For  the  lesson  ^  thou  hast  tausrht ! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  burning  deed  and  thought. 

1  Involved  in  the  poem  is  the  thought  of  the  twofold 
life  of  man,  —  toiling  at  work,  listening  to  a  voice  from 
Heaven. 


20  FROM  MY  ARM-CHAIR. 


2 


FROM  ]VIY  ARM-CHAIR. 

TO   THE    CHILDREN    OF    CAMBRIDGE, 

Who  presented  to  me,  on  my  Seventy -second  Birthday, 
February  27,  1879,  this  Chair  made  from  the  Wood  of 
the  Village  Blacksmith's  Chestnut-Tree. 

Am  I  a  king,  that  I  should  call  my  own 

This  splendid  ebon  throne  ? 
Or  by  what  reason,  or  what  right  divine,^ 

Can  I  proclaim  it  mine  ? 

Only,  perhaps,  by  right  divine  of  song 

It  may  to  me  belong  ; 
Only  because  the  spreading  chestnut-tree 

Of  old  was  sung  by  me. 

Well  I  remember  it  in  all  its  prime, 
When  in  the  summer-time 

1  The  divine  right  of  kings  is  a  term  which  was  used 
originally  to  express  a  belief  that  kings  held  their  office 
by  an  authority  derived  directly  from  God  ;  it  was  the 
wilful  misinterpretation  of  this  doctrine  into  a  claim  that 
they  were  therefore  at  liberty  to  do  as  they  pleased  with 
people  and  property,  which  led  to  the  downfall  of  the  , 
feudal  monarchy  in  England  under  the  Stuart  kings,  and 
the  substitution,  finally,  of  a  constitutional  monarchy,  in 
which  the  head  of  the  kingdom,  while  ruling  by  the  grace 
of  God,  is  subject  to  the  will  of  the  people  as  expressed 
in  the  laws  which  their  parliament  makes. 

2  See  the  poem  of  The  Village  Blacksmith,  in  this  vol- 
ume, page  17. 


"  Am  I  a  king,  that  1  should  call  my  own 
This  splendid  ebon  throne  ?" 

My  A  rvi  Chair- 


FROM  MY  ARM-CHAIR.  21 

The  affluent  foliage  of  its  branches  made 
A  cavern  of  cool  shade. 

There,  by  the  blacksmith's  forge,  beside  the  street, 

Its  blossoms  white  and  sweet 
Enticed  the  bees,  until  it  seemed  alive, 

And  murmured  liie  a  liive. 

And  when  the  winds  of  autumn,  with  a  shout. 

Tossed  its  great  arms  about. 
The  sliining  chestnuts,  bursting  from  the  sheath, 

Dropped  to  the  ground  beneath. 

And  now  some  fragments  of  its  branches  bare, 

Shaped  as  a  stately  chair. 
Have  by  my  hearthstone  found  a  home  at  last, 

And  whisper  of  the  past. 

The  Danish  king  could  not  in  all  his  pride 

Repel  the  ocean  tide,^ 
But,  seated  in  this  chair,  I  can  in  rhyme 

Roll  back  the  tide  of  Time. 

^  "King  Cnut  (Canute)  was  one  day  by  the  sea-shore 
near  Southampton,  and  when  some  of  the  men  -^-ho  were 
with  him  spoke  of  liis  power  and  greatness,  he  bade  a 
chair  to  be  placed  close  to  the  water's  edge.  Then  said 
Cnut,  *C)  sea,  I  am  thy  lord;  my  ships  sail  over  tliee 
whither  I  will,  and  this  land  against  Avhich  thou  dashest 
is  mine  ;  stay  then  thy  waves,  and  dare  not  to  Avet  the 
feet  of  thy  lord  and  master.'  But  the  waves  came  on, 
for  the  tide  was  now  coming  in,  and  they  came  round  the 
chair  on  which  Cnut  was  sitting,  and  they  wetted  his  feet 
and  his  clothes.     Then  spake  King  Cnut  to  the  men  that 


22  FROM  MY  ARM-CHAIR. 

I  see  again,  as  one  in  vision  sees, 

The  blossoms  and  the  bees, 
And  hear  the  children's  voices  shout  and  call. 

And  the  brown  chestnuts  fall. 

I  see  the  smithy  with  its  fires  aglow, 

I  hear  the  bellows  blow, 
And  the  shrill  hammers  on  the  anvil  beat 

The  iron  white  with  heat ! 

And  thus,  dear  children,  have  ye  made  for  me 

This  day  a  jubilee, 
And  to  my  more  than  three-score  years  and  ten 

Brought  back  my  youth  again. 

The  heart  hath  its  own  memory,  like  the  mind, 

And  in  it  are  enshrined 
The  precious  keepsakes,  into  which  is  wrought 

The  giver's  lo\dng  thought. 

Only  your  love  and  your  remembrance  could 

Give  life  to  this  dead  wood, 
And  make  these  branches,  leafless  now  so  long. 

Blossom  again  in  song. 

were  with  him  :  '  Ye  see  now  how  weak  is  the  power  of 
kings  and  of  all  men,  for  3-e  see  that  the  waves  will  not 
hearken  to  my  voice.  Honor,  then,  God  only,  and  serve 
Him,  for  Him  do  all  things  obey.'"  —  E.  A.  Freeman's 
Old  English  History  for  Children. 


HYMN  OF  THE  MORAVIAN  NUNS.         23 


HYMN  OF  THE  MORAVIAN  NUNS  OF 
BETHLEHEM. 


AT  THE  COXSECRATIOX  OF  PULASKl'S  BAXXER.^ 


Whex  the  dying  flame  of  day 

Through  the  chancel  shot  its  ray, 

Far  the  glimmering  tapers  shed 

Faint  light  on  the  cowled  head  ; 

And  the  censer  burning  swung, 

Where,  before  the  altar,  hung 

The  crimson  banner,  that  mth  prayer 

Had  been  consecrated  there. 

And   the   nuns'    sweet   hymn   was   heard  the 

while, 
Sung  low,  in  the  dim,  mysterious  aisle. 

"  Take  thy  banner  !     May  it  wave 
Proudly  o'er  the  good  and  brave  ; 
When  the  battle's  distant  wail 
Breaks  the  sabbath  of  our  vale, 
When  the  clarion's  music  thrills 
To  the  hearts  of  these  lone  hills. 
When  the  spear  in  conflict  shakes,  • 
And  the  strong  lance  shivering  breaks. 

1  The  Polish  Count  Pulaski,  who  served  in  our  army 
in  the  Revohitiou,  visited  Lafayette  wlieu  he  lay  sick  at 
Bethlehem,  in  Pennsylvania,  and  he  so  won  upon  the  re- 
gard of  the  Moravian  sisterhood  there  that  they  gave  him 
a  banner. 


24        HYMN  OF  THE  MORAVIAN  NUNS. 

"  Take  thy  banner  !  and,  beneath 
The  battle-cloud's  encircling  wreath, 
Guard  it,  till  our  homes  are  free  ! 
Guard  it !  God  will  prosper  thee  ! 
In  the  dark  and  trying  hour. 
In  the  breaking  forth  of  power, 
In  the  rush  of  steeds  and  men. 
His  right  hand  will  shield  thee  then. 

"  Take  thy  banner  !     But  when  night 
Closes  round  the  ghastly  fight. 
If  the  vanquished  warrior  bow. 
Spare  him  !     By  our  holy  vow, 
By  our  prayers  and  many  tears, 
By  the  mercy  that  endears, 
Spare  him  !  he  our  love  hath  shared ! 
Spare  him !  as  thou  wouldst  be  spared  ! 

"  Take  thy  banner  !  and  if  e'er 
Thou  shouldst  press  the  soldier's  bier, 
And  the  muffled  drum  should  beat 
To  the  tread  of  mournful  feet, 
Then  this  crimson  flag  shall  be 
Martial  cloak  and  shroud  for  thee." 

The  warrior  took  that  banner  proud, 
And  it  was  his  martial  cloak  and  shroud  1  ^ 

1  Pulaski  fell  at  the  siege  of  Savannah. 


THE  PHANTOM  SHIP.  25 


THE   PHANTOM   SHIP. 

Ix  Mather's  Magnalia  Christi,^ 

Of  the  okl  colonial  time, 
May  be  found  in  prose  the  legend 

That  is  here  set  down  in  rhyme. 

A  ship  sailed  from  New  Haven, 

And  the  keen  and  frosty  airs. 
That  filled  her  sails  at  parting, 

Were  heavy  with  good  men's  prayers. 

"  O  Lord  !  if  it  be  thy  pleasure  "  — 

Thus  j^rayed  the  old  divine  — 
"  To  bury  our  friends  in  the  ocean, 

Take  them,  for  they  are  thine  !  " 

But  Master  Lamberton  muttered. 
And  under  his  breath  said  he, 
*'  This  ship  is  so  crank  and  walty  ^ 
I  fear  our  grave  she  will  be  I  " 

1  The  whole  title  of  the  book  Is  Magnalia  Christi 
Americana  [Christ's  mighty  works  in  America]  ;  or,  The 
Ecclesiastical  Historij  of  New  England,  from  its  first 
Planting,  in  the  year  1620,  unto  the  year  of  our  Lord  1698. 
It  was  first  published  in  1702.  The  story  of  the  phan- 
tom ship  is  contained  in  it  in  the  form  of  a  letter  from 
James  Pierpont,  a  New  Haven  Minister.  The  letter  oc- 
curs in  Book  I.,  chapter  vi.,  and  may  also  be  found  in 
The  Bodleys  Afoot,  paj^c  175. 

2  Waltj/,  liable  to  roll  over. 


26  THE  PHANTOM  SHIP. 

And  the  ships  that  came  from  England, 
When  the  winter  months  were  gone, 

Brought  no  tidings  of  this  vessel 
Nor  of  Master  Lamberton. 

This  put  the  people  to  praying 

That  the  Lord  would  let  them  hear 

What  in  his  greater  wisdom 

He  had  done  with  friends  so  dear. 

And  at  last  their  prayers  were  answered  :  - 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June, 
An  hour  before  the  sunset 

Of  a  windy  afternoon, 

When,  steadily  steering  landward, 

A  ship  was  seen  below, 
And  they  knew  it  was  Lamberton,  Master, 

Who  sailed  so  long  ago. 

On  she  came,  with  a  cloud  of  canvas. 
Right  aQ:ainst  the  wind  that  blew, 

Until  the  eye  could  distinguish 
The  faces  of  the  crew. 

Then  fell  her  straining  topmasts, 
Hanging  tangled  in  the  shrouds, 

And  her  sails  were  loosened  and  lifted, 
And  blown  away  like  clouds. 

And  the  masts,  ^vith  all  their  rigging, 
Fell  slowly,  one  by  one. 


PEGASUS  IN  POUND.  27 

Aiid  the  hulk  dilated  and  vanished, 

As  a  sea-mist  in  the  sun  ! 

And  the  people  who  saw  tliis  marvel 

Each  said  unto  his  friend, 
That  this  Avas  the  mould  of  their  vessel, 

4-nd  thus  her  tragic  end. 

And  the  pastor  of  the  village 

Gave  thanks  to  God  in  prayer. 
That,  to  quiet  their  troubled  spirits, 

He  had  sent  this  Ship  of  Air. 


PEGASUS   IN  POUND. 

OxcE  into  a  quiet  village, 

Without  haste  and  without  heed, 

In  the  golden  prime  of  morning, 
Strayed  the  poet's  winged  steed. -^ 

It  was  Autumn,  and  incessant 

Pijied  the  quails  from  shocks  and  sheaves, 
And,  like  living  coals,  the  apples 

Burned  among  the  withering  leaves. 

1  In  classic  mythology  Pegasus  was  a  winged  horse 
belonging  to  Apollo  and  the  Muses,  Thus  when  a  poet 
wrote,  he  was  said  to  mount  Pegasus  and  ride  ;  the  horse 
not  only  bore  him  swiftly,  and  by  his  canter  gave  rhythm 
to  the  verse,  but  by  his  wings  bore  the  rider  above  the 
earth. 


28  PEGASUS  IN  POUND. 

Loud  the  clamorous  bell  was  ringing 
From  its  belfry  gaunt  and  grim ; 

'T  was  the  daily  call  to  labor, 
Not  a  triumph  meant  for  him. 

Not  the  less  he  saw  the  landscape, 
In  its  gleaming  vapor  veiled ; 

Not  the  less  he  breathed  the  odors 
That  the  dying  leaves  exhaled. 

Thus,  upon  the  village  common, 
By  the  school-boys  he  was  found  ; 

And  the  wise  men,  in  their  wisdom. 
Put  him  straightway  into  pound. 

Then  the  sombre  village  crier, 
Ringing  loud  his  brazen  bell, 

Wandered  down  the  street  proclaiming 
There  was  an  estray  to  sell. 

And  the  curious  country  peoj)le. 
Rich  and  poor,  and  young  and  old, 

Came  in  haste  to  see  this  wondrous 
Winged  steed,  with  mane  of  gold. 

Thus  the  day  passed,  and  the  evening 
Fell,  with  vapors  cold  and  dim  ; 

But  it  brought  no  food  nor  shelter. 
Brought  no  straw  nor  stall,  for  him. 

Patiently,  and  still  expectant. 

Looked  he  through  the  wooden  bars, 


PEGASUS  IN  POUND.  29 

Saw  the  moon  rise  o'er  the  landscape, 
Saw  the  tranquil,  patient  stars  ; 

Till  at  length  the  bell  at  midnight 

Sounded  from  its  dark  abode, 
And,  from  out  a  neighboring  farm-yard 

Loud  the  cock  Alectryon  ^  crowed. 

Then,  with  nostrils  wide  distended, 

Breakinfj  from  his  iron  chain, 
And  unfolding  far  liis  pinions, 

To  those  stars  he  soared  again. 

On  the  morrow,  when  the  village 

Woke  to  all  its  toil  and  care, 
Lo  I  the  strange  steed  had  departed, 

And  they  knew  not  when  nor  where. 

But  they  found,  upon  the  greensward 
Where  his  sti-uggling  hoofs  had  trod, 

Pure  and  bright,  a  fountain  ^  flowing 
From  the  hoof-marks  in  the  sod. 

1  Alectryon,  in^  the  old  fables,  was  a  youth  "vvho  had 
been  stationed  by  Mars  to  give  notice  Avhen  Apollo,  tbe 
sun-god,  was  to  appear.  The  boy  fell  asleep,  and,  for 
punishment,  was  turned  by  Mars  into  a  cock,  and  ever 
since  has  remembered  his  duty  and  crows  when  the  sun 
rises. 

2  The  poet  Ovid  says  that,  with  a  blow  of  his  hoof,  Peg- 
asus opened  the  fountain  of  Hippocvene  (horse-spring) 
on  Mount  Helicon,  and  that  the  INIuses  used  to  drink 
from  it.  Our  poet  has  turned  the  pretty  story  into  a 
fable  of  wider  meaning,  by  reminding  us  that  poetry,  not 
ai)preciated  by  all  people,  is  yet  a  never-failing  source  of 
pleasure  in  the  toiling  world. 


30  THE  SERMON  OF  ST.   FRANCIS. 

From  that  hour,  the  fount  unfailing 
Gladdens  the  whole  region  round, 

Strengthening  all  who  drink  its  waters, 
While  it  soothes  them  with  its  sound. 


THE   SERMON  OF   ST.  FRANCIS. 

Up  soared  the  lark  into  the  air, 
A  shaft  of  song,  a  winged  prayer, 
As  if  a  soul,  released  from  pain. 
Were  flying  back  to  heaven  again. 

St.  Francis  ^  heard  ;  it  was  to  him 
An  emblem  of  the  SerajDhim  ; 
The  ujjward  motion  of  the  fire, 
The  light,  the  heat,  the  heart's  desire. 

Around  Assisi's  convent  gate 
The  birds,  God's  poor  who  cannot  wait, 
From  moor  and  mere  and  darksome  wood 
Came  flocking  for  their  dole  of  food. 

"  O  brother  birds,"  St.  Francis  said, 
"  Ye  come  to  me  and  ask  for  bread, 

But  not  with  bread  alone  to-day 

Shall  ye  be  fed  and  sent  away. 

1  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  lived  in  Italy  at  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  and  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  was 
founder  of  the  order  of  the  Franciscans.  There  are 
many  stories  of  his  intimacy  with  birds  and  beasts. 


WALTER    VON  DER    VOGELWEID.  31 

"  Ye  shall  be  fed,  ye  happy  birds, 
With  manna  of  celestial  words  ; 
Not  mine,  though  mine  they  seem  to  be, 
Not  mine,  though  they  be  spoken  through  me- 

"  O,  doubly  are  ye  bound  to  praise 
The  great  Creator  in  your  lays  ; 
He  giveth  you  your  plumes  of  do-vvn. 
Your  crimson  hoods,  your  cloaks  of  brown. 

"  He  giveth  you  your  wings  to  fly 
And  breathe  a  purer  air  on  high, 
And  careth  for  you  everywhere, 
"Who  for  yourselves  so  little  care  !  " 

With  flutter  of  swift  wings  and  songs 
Together  rose  the  feathered  throngs, 
And  singing  scattered  far  apart ; 
Deep  peace  was  in  St.  Francis'  heart. 

He  knew  not  if  the  brotherhood 
His  homily  had  understood  ; 
He  only  knew  that  to  one  ear 
The  meaning  of  his  words  was  clear. 


WALTER  VON   DER  VOGELWEID. 

VoGELWEiD  the  Mimiesinger,^ 
When  he  left  this  Avorld  of  ours, 

1  The  Minnesiiiirers  were  German  lyrical  poets,  who 
first  sang-  about  tlie  middle  of  tlie  twelfth  century  ;  their 


32  WALTER   VON  DER   VOGELWEID. 

Laid  his  body  in  the  cloister, 

Under  Wurtzburg's  minster  towers. 

And  he  gave  the  monks  his  treasures, 
Gave  them  all  with  this  behest : 

They  should  feed  the  birds  at  noontide 
Daily  on  his  place  of  rest ; 

Saying,  "  From  these  wandering  minstrels 
I  have  learned  the  art  of  song ; 

Let  me  now  repay  the  lessons 

They  have  taught  so  well  and  long." 

Thus  the  bard  of  love  departed ; 

And,  fulfilling  his  desire. 
On  his  tomb  the  birds  were  feasted 

By  the  children  of  the  choir. 

Day  by  day,  o'er  tower  and  turret, 

In  foul  weather  and  in  fair. 
Day  by  day,  in  vaster  numbers, 

Flocked  the  poets  of  the  air. 

On  the  tree  whose  heavy  branches 

Overshadowed  all  the  place. 
On  the  pavement,  on  the  tombstone, 

On  the  jjoet's  sculptured  face, 

On  the  cross-bars  of  each  window, 
On  the  lintel  of  each  door, 

songs  breathed  of  love  and  sweetness  in  woods,  meadows, 
flowers,  grass,  rivers,  birds,  and  women,  while  some  had 
a  religious  character. 


"  On  his  tomb  the  birds  were  feasted 
By  the  children  of  the  choir." 

Walter  von  der  V'ogehveiU. 


WALTER    VON  DER    VOGELWEID.         33 

They  renewed  the  War  of  Wartbiirg,^ 
Wliich  the  bard  had  fought  before. 

There  they  sang  their  merry  carols, 
Sang  their  lauds  on  every  side  ; 

And  the  name  their  voices  uttered 
Was  the  name  of  Vogelweid. 

Till  at  length  the  portly  abbot 

Murmured,  "  Why  this  waste  of  food  ? 

Be  it  changed  to  loaves  henceforward 
For  our  fastino"  brotherhood." 


& 


Then  in  vain  o'er  tower  and  turret. 
From  the  walls  and  woodland  nests, 

When  the  minster  bells  rang  noontide, 
Gathered  the  unwelcome  guests. 

Then  in  vain,  -wdth  cries  discordant, 
Clamorous  round  the  Gothic  spire, 

Screamed  the  feathered  Minnesino^ers 
For  the  cliildren  of  the  choir. 

Time  has  long  effaced  the  inscriptions 
On  the  cloister's  funeral  stones, 


1  Castle  Wartburg  was  the  residence  of  Landgrave 
Herrmann  of  Thiiringen,  in  Vogehveid's  time,  and  a  great 
resort  of  the  ^Minnesingers.  The  Wartburg  Minstrels' 
War  is  the  name  of  a  poem  which  celebrates  the  singing 
contests  of  that  day.  Long  afterward  Wartburg  became 
famous  as  the  place  where  Luther  translated  the  Bible 
into  German. 

3 


34  THE  BELL   OF  ATRF. 

And  tradition  only  tells  us 

Where  repose  the  poet's  bones. 

But  around  the  vast  cathedral, 
By  sweet  echoes  multiplied, 

Still  the  birds  repeat  the  legend. 
And  the  name  of  Vogelweid. 


THE   BELL   OF  ATRL 

At  Atri  in  Abruzzo,  a  small  town 

Of  ancient  Roman  date,  but  scant  renown, 

One  of  those  little  places  that  have  run 

Half  up  the  hill,  beneath  a  blazing  sun. 

And  then  sat  dowai  to  rest,  as  if  to  say, 

"  I  climb  no  farther  upward,  come  what  may,"  — 

The  Re  Giovanni,^  now  unknown  to  fame. 

So  many  monarchs  since  have  borne  the  name, 

Had  a  great  bell  hung  in  the  market-place 

Beneath  a  roof,  projecting  some  small  space, 

By  way  of  shelter  from  the  sun  and  rain. 

Then  rode  he  through  the  streets  with  all  his 

train, 
And,  with  the  blast  of  trumpets  loud  and  long, 
Made  proclamation,  that  whenever  wrong 
AVas  done  to  any  man,  he  should  but  ring 
The  great  bell  in  the  square,  and  he,  the  King, 
Would  cause  the  Syndic  ^  to  decide  thereon. 
Such  was  the  proclamation  of  King  John.^ 

1  The  Italian  and  English  forms  of  the  same  Dame, 

2  The  magistrate  of  Atri. 


THE  BELL    OF  ATRL  35 

How  swift  the  liapi)y  clays  in  Atri  sped, 
"What  wronsfs  were  righted  need  not  here  be  said. 
Suffice  it  that,  as  all  things  must  decay, 
The  hempen  rope  at  length  was  worn  away, 
Unravelled  at  the  end,  and,  strand  by  strand. 
Loosened  and  wasted  in  the  ringer's  hand, 
Till  one,  who  noted  this  in  passing  by, 
Mended  the  rope  with  braids  of  briony,^ 
So  that  the  leaves  and  tendrils  of  the  vine 
Hung  like  a  votive  garland  at  a  shrine. 

By  chance  it  happened  that  in  Atri  dwelt 
A  knight,  with  spur  on  heel  and  sword  in  belt. 
Who  loved  to  hunt  the  wild-boar  in  the  woods. 
Who  loved  his  falcons  Avith  their  crimson  hoods, 
Who  loved  his  hounds  and  horses,  and  all  sports 
And  prodigalities  of  camps  and  courts  ;  — 
Loved,  or  had  loved  them  ;  for  at  last,  grown  old, 
His  only  passion  was  the  love  of  gold. 

He  sold  his  horses,  sold  liis  hawks  and  hounds, 
Rented  his  vineyards  and  his  garden-grounds. 
Kept  but  one  steed,  his  favorite  steed  of  all. 
To  starve  and  shiver  in  a  naked  stall. 
And  day  by  day  sat  brooding  in  his  chair, 
Devising  plans  how  best  to  hoard  and  spare. 

At  leno-th  he  said  :  ^^  What  is  the  use  or  need 
To  keep  at  my  o\xn  cost  this  lazy  steed. 
Eating  his  head  off  in  my  stables  here, 
When  rents  are  low  and  provender  is  dear  ? 

1  Or  Bryonia. 


36  THE  BELL    OF  ATRL 

Let  him  go  feed  upon  the  public  ways  ; 

I  want  him  only  for  the  holidays." 

So  the  old  steed  was  turned  into  the  heat 

Of  the  long,  lonely,  silent,  shadeless  street ; 

And  wandered  in  suburban  lanes  forlorn, 

Barked  at  by  dogs,  and  torn  by  brier  and  thorn. 

One  afternoon,  as  in  that  sultry  clime 
It  is  the  custom  in  the  summer  time, 
With  bolted  doors  and  window-shutters  closed, 
The  inhabitants  of  Atri  slept  or  dozed  ; 
When  suddenly  upon  their  senses  fell 
The  loud  alarum  of  the  accusing  bell ! 
The  Syndic  started  from  his  deep  repose, 
Turned  on  his  couch,  and  listened,  and  then  rose 
And  donned  his  robes,  and  with  reluctant  pace 
Went  panting  forth  into  the  market-place, 
Where  the  great  bell  upon  its  cross-beam  swung 
Reiterating  with  persistent  tongue. 
In  half-articulate  jargon,  the  old  song  : 
"  Some  one  hath  done  a  wrong,  hath   done   a 
wrong  !  " 

But  ere  he  reached  the  belfry's  light  arcade, 
He  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  beneath  its  shade, 
No  shape  of  human  form  of  woman  born, 
But  a  poor  steed  dejected  and  forlorn, 
Who  with  uplifted  head  and  eager  eye 
Was  tugging  at  the  vines  of  briony. 
"  Domeneddio  !  "  cried  the  Syndic  straight, 
"  This  is  the  Knight  of  Atri's  steed  of  state  ! 
He  calls  for  justice,  being  sore  distressed. 
And  pleads  his  cause  as  loudly  as  the  best." 


TEE  BELL    OF  ATRL  37 

Meanwhile  from  street  and  lane  a  noisy  crowd 

Had  rolled  together  like  a  summer  cloud, 

And  told  the  story  of  the  wretched  beast 

In  five-and-twenty  different  ways  at  least, 

With  much  gesticulation  and  appeal 

To  heathen  gods,  in  their  excessive  zeal. 

The  Knight  was  called  and  questioned  ;  in  reply 

Did  not  confess  the  fact,  did  not  deny ; 

Treated  the  matter  as  a  pleasant  jest. 

And  set  at  naught  the  Syndic  and  the  rest. 

Maintaining,  in  an  angry  undertone. 

That  he  should  do  what  pleased  him  with  his  own. 

And  thereupon  the  Syndic  gravely  read 
The  proclamation  of  the  King  ;  then  said  : 
"  Pride  goeth  forth  on  horseback  grand  and  gay, 
But  Cometh  back  on  foot,  and  begs  its  way  ; 
Fame  is  the  fragrance  of  heroic  deeds. 
Of  flowers  of  chivalry  and  not  of  weeds  ! 
These  are  familiar  proverbs  ;  but  I  fear 
They  never  yet  have  reached  your  knightly  ear. 
What  fair  renown,  what  honor,  what  rejDute 
Can  come  to  you  from  starving  this  poor  brute  ? 
He  who  serves  well  and  speaks  not,  merits  more 
Than  they  who  clamor  loudest  at  the  door. 
Therefore  the  law  decrees  that  as  this  steed 
Served  you  in  youth,  henceforth  you  shall  take 

heed 
To  comfort  his  old  age,  and  to  provide 
Shelter  in  3tall,  and  food  and  field  beside." 

The  Knight  withdrew  abashed  ;  the  people  all 
Led  home  the  steed  in  triumph  to  his  stall. 


38  SIR  HUMPHREY   GILBERT. 

The  King  heard  and  approved,  and  laughed  in 

glee, 
And  cried  aloud  :   "  Right  well  it  pleaseth  me  ! 
Church-bells  at  best  but  ring  us  to  the  door  ; 
But  go  not  in  to  mass  ;  my  bell  doth  more  : 
It  Cometh  into  court  and  pleads  the  cause 
Of  creatures  dumb  and  unknown  to  the  laws  ; 
And  this  shall  make,  in  every  Christian  cHme, 
The  Bell  of  Atri  famous  for  all  time." 


SIR  HUMPHREY   GILBERT. 

Southward  with  fleet  of  ice 

Sailed  the  corsair  Death  ; 
Wild  and  fast  blew  the  blast, 

And  the  east-wind  was  his  breath. 

His  lordly  ships  of  ice 

Glisten  in  the  sun  ; 
On  each  side,  like  pennons  wide. 

Flashing  crystal  streamlets  run. 

His  sails  of  white  sea-mist 

Dripped  with  silver  rain  ; 
But  where  he  passed  there  were  cast 

Leaden  shadows  o'er  the  main. 

Eastward  from  Campobello 

Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  ^  sailed  ; 

1  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  was  half-brother  to  Sir  Wal- 
ter Raleigh,  and  came  to  America  as  leader  of  an  expe- 


SIR  HUMPHREY  GILBERT.  39 

Three  days  or  more  seaward  he  bore, 
Then,  alas  !  the  land-wind  failed. 

Alas  !  the  land-\\'ind  failed, 

And  ice-cold  grew  the  night ; 
And  nevermore,  on  sea  or  shore, 

Should  Sir  Hmiiplu-ey  see  the  light. 

He  sat  upon  the  deck. 

The  Book  was  in  his  hand  ; 
"  Do  not  fear  !  Heaven  is  as  near," 
He  said,  "  by  water  as  by  land  !  " 

In  the  first  watch  of  the  night. 

Without  a  signal's  sound. 
Out  of  the  sea,  mysteriously. 

The  fleet  of  Death  rose  all  around. 

The  moon  and  the  evening  star 
Were  hanoinq-  in  the  shrouds  ; 

Every  mast,  as  it  passed. 

Seemed  to  rake  the  passing  clouds. 

They  grappled  with  their  prize. 
At  midnight  black  and  cold  ! 

dition  in  15S3.  It  was  when  he  was  returning  to  Eng- 
land, after  an  unsuccessful  voyage  in  search  of  a  silver 
mine,  that  he  met  liis  deatli  as  the  poem  tells.  He  was 
aboard  the  Squirrel,  the  smallest  vessel  of  his  little  fleet, 
—  a  boat  of  only  ten  tons  burden.  The  historian  of  the 
expedition  tells  how  the  captain  of  one  of  the  other  ves- 
sels came  near  enough  to  see  Sir  Humphrey  sitting  in  the 
stern  with  his  book,  and  to  hear  his  cheerful  words. 


40  THE  EMPERORS  BIRD'S-NEST. 

As  of  a  rock  was  the  shock ; 

Heavily  the  ground-swell  rolled. 

Southward  through  day  and  dark, 
They  drift  in  close  embrace, 

With  mist  and  rain,  o'er  the  open  main 
Yet  there  seems  no  change  of  place. 

Southward,  forever  southward, 

They  drift  through  dark  and  day  ; 

And  like  a  dream,  in  the  Gulf-Stream 
Sinking,  vanish  all  away. 


THE  EMPEROR'S   BIRDS-NEST. 

Once  the  Emperor  Charles  of  Spain, 
With  his  swarthy,  grave  commanders, 

I  forget  in  what  campaign, 

Long  besieged,  in  mud  and  rain. 
Some  old  frontier  town  of  Flanders. 

Up  and  down  the  dreary  camp. 
In  great  boots  of  Spanish  leather, 

Striding  with  a  measured  tramp. 

These  Hidalgos,  dull  and  damp. 

Cursed  the  Frenchmen,  cursed  the  weather. 

Thus  as  to  and  fro  they  went, 

Over  upland  and  through  hollow, 

Giving  their  impatience  vent. 

Perched  upon  the  Emperor's  tent. 
In  her  nest,  they  spied  a  swallow. 


THE  EMPEROR'S  BIRD'S-NEST.  41 

Yes,  it  was  a  swallow's  nest, 

Built  of  clay  and  hair  of  horses, 
Mane,  or  tail,  or  dragoon's  crest. 
Found  on  hedge-rows  east  and  west, 

After  skirmish  of  the  forces. 

# 

Then  an  old  Hidalgo  said. 

As  he  twirled  his  gray  mustachio, 
■  Sure  this  swallow  overhead 

Thinks  the  Emjjeror's  tent  a  shed. 
And  the  Emperor  but  a  Macho  !  "  -^ 

Hearing  his  imperial  name  "^ 

Coupled  with  those  words  of  malice, 

Half  in  anger,  half  in  shame. 

Forth  the  great  campaigner  came 
Slowly  from  his  canvas  palace. 


"  Let  no  hand  the  bird  molest," 

Said  he  solemnly,  "  nor  hurt  her  !  " 
Adding  then,  by  way  of  jest, 

"  Golondrina  ^  is  my  guest, 

'T  is  the  wife  of  some  deserter  !  " 

Swift  as  bowstring  speeds  a  shaft. 

Through  the  camp  was  sjiread  the  rumor. 

And  the  soldiers,  as  they  quaffed 

Flemish  beer  at  dinner,  laughed 
At  the  Emperor's  pleasant  humor. 

1  Macho  is  a  Spanish  word,  meaning  mule. 

2  Golondrina  is  the  feminine  form  of  golondrino,  which 
means  a  swallow,  and  is  also  a  cant  name  for  a  deserter, 
as  of  one  who  takes  lliglit. 


42  VICTOR   GALBRAITH. 

So  unharmed  and  unafraid 

Sat  the  swallow  still  and  brooded, 
Till  the  constant  cannonade 
Through  the  walls  a  breach  had  made 
And  the  sieQ-e  was  thus  concluded. 


Then  the  army,  elsewhere  bent, 
Struck  its  tents  as  if  disbanding, 

Only  not  the  Emperor's  tent. 

For  he  ordered,  ere  he  went. 

Very  curtly,  ''  Leave  it  standing !  " 

So  it  stood  there  all  alone. 

Loosely  flapping,  torn  and  tattered, 
Till  the  brood  was  fledged  and  flomi, 
Singing  o'er  those  walls  of  stone 

Which  the  cannon-shot  had  shattered. 


VICTOR   GALBRAITH.i 

Under  the  walls  of  Monterey 

At  daybreak  the  bugles  begin  to  play, 

Victor  Galbraith  I 
In  the  midst  of  the  morning  damp  and  gray. 
These  were  the  words  they  seemed  to  say  : 

1  "  This  poem,"  says  Mr.  Longfellow,  "  is  founded  on 
fact.  Victor  Galbraitli  was  a  bugler  iu  a  company  of 
volunteer  cavalry,  and  was  shot  in  Mexico  for  some 
breach  of  discipline.  It  is  a  common  superstition  among 
soldiers,  that  no  balls  will  kill  them  nnless  their  names 
are  written  on  them.  The  old  proverb  says,  '  Every  bul- 
let has  its  billet.'  " 


VICTOR   GALBRAITE.  43 

"  Come  forth  to  thy  death, 
Victor  Galbraith  I  " 

Forth  he  came,  with  a  martial  tread  ; 
Firm  was  his  step,  erect  his  head  ; 

Victor  Galbraith, 
He  who  so  well  the  bugle  played, 
Could  not  mistake  the  words  it  said  : 
'•  Come  forth  to  thy  death, 

Victor  Galbraith  1  " 

He  looked  at  the  earth,  he  looked  at  the  sky, 
He  looked  at  the  files  of  musketry, 

Victor  Galbraith  ! 
And  he  said,  with  a  steady  voice  and'eye, 
"  Take  good  aim ;  I  am  ready  to  die  !  " 
.  Thus  challenges  death 
Victor  Galbraith. 

Twelve  fiery  tongues  flashed  straight  and  red. 
Six  leaden  balls  on  their  errand  sped ; 

Victor  Galbraith 
Falls  to  the  ground,  but  he  is  not  dead  ; 
His  name  was  not  stamped  on  those  balls  of  lead, 

And  they  only  scath 

Victor  Galbraith. 

Three  balls  are  in  his  breast  and  brain,  . 
But  he  rises  out  of  the  dust  again, 

Victor  Galbraith  ! 
The  water  he  drinks  has  a  bloody  stain ; 
"  O  kill  me,  and  put  me  out  of  my  pain  I  " 


44  THE  ROPE  WALK. 

In  his  agony  prayeth 
Victor  Galbraith. 

Forth  dart  once  more  those  tongues  of  flame, 
And  the  bugler  has  died  a  death  of  shame, 

Victor  Galbraith ! 
His  soul  has  gone  back  to  whence  it  came. 
And  no  one  answers  to  the  name, 

When  the  Sergeant  saith, 
"  Victor  Galbraith  !  " 

Under  the  walls  of  Monterey 
By  night  a  bugle  is  heard  to  play, 

Victor  Galbraith  ! 
Through  ther  mist  of  the  valley  damp  and  gray 
The  sentinels  hear  the  sound,  and  say, 
"  That  is  the  wraith 

Of  Victor  Galbraith  !  " 


THE   EOPEWALK, 

Iisr  that  building,  long  and  low. 
With  its  windows  all  a-row. 

Like  the  port-holes  of  a  hulk. 
Human  spiders  spin  and  spin. 
Backward  down  their  threads  so  thin 

Dro23ping,  each  a  hempen  bulk. 

At  the  end,  an  open  door  ; 
Squares  of  sunshine  on  the  floor 
Light  the  long  and  dusky  lane  ; 


"  Ships  rejoicing  in  the  breeze." 

The  Ropeivalk. 


THE  ROPE  WALK.  45 

And  the  whirring  of  a  wheel, 
Dull  and  drowsy,  makes  me  feel 
All  its  spokes  are  in  my  brain. 

As  the  spinners  to  the  end 
Downward  go  and  reascend, 

Gleam  the  long  threads  in  the  sun  ; . 
While  within  this  brain  of  mine 
Cobwebs  brighter  and  more  fine 

By  the  busy  wheel  are  spun. 

Two  fair  maidens  in  a  swing, 
Like  white  doves  upon  the  wing, 

First  before  my  vision  pass  ; 
Laughing,  as  their  gentle  hands 
Closely  clasp  the  twisted  strands, 

At  their  shadow  on  the  grass. 

Then  a  booth  of  mountebanks, 
With  its  smell  of  tan  and  planks, 

And  a  girl  poised  high  in  air 
On  a  cord,  in  spangled  dress, 
With  a  faded  loveliness. 

And  a  weary  look  of  care. 

Then  a  homestead  among  farms. 
And  a  woman  with  bare  arms 

Drawing  water  from  a  well ; 
As  the  bucket  mounts  apace. 
With  it  mounts  her  own  fair  face. 

As  at  some  magician's  spell. 


46  THE  ROPE  WALK. 

Then  an  old  man  in  a  tower, 
Ringing  loud  the  noontide  hour, 

"While  the  rope  coils  round  and  round 
Like  a  serpent  at  his  feet, 
And  again,  in  swift  retreat, 

Nearly  lifts  him  from  the  ground. 

4 

Then  within  a  prison-yard. 
Faces  fixed,  and  stern,  and  hard. 

Laughter  and  indecent  mirth  ; 
Ah !  it  is  the  gallows-tree  ! 
Breath  of  Christian  charity. 

Blow,  and  sweep  it  from  the  earth ! 

Then  a  school-boy,  with  his  kite 
Gleaming  in  a  sky  of  light, 

And  an  eager,  upward  look  ; 
Steeds  pursued  through  lane  and  field  ; 
Fowlers  with  their  snares  concealed  ; 

And  an  angler  by  a  brook. 

Ships  rejoicing  in  the  breeze. 
Wrecks  that  float  o'er  unknown  seas. 

Anchors  dragged  through  faithless  sand  ; 
,       Sea-fog  drifting  overhead. 

And,  with  lessening  line  and  lead, 

Sailors  feeling  for  the  land. 

AH  these  scenes  do  I  behold. 
These,  and  many  left  untold. 
In  that  building  long  and  low  ; 


THE   THREE   KINGS. 

Three  Kings  came  riding  from  far  away, 

Melchior  and  Gaspar  and  Baltasar ;  ^ 
Three  Wise  Men  out  of  the  East  were  they, 
And  they  travelled  by  night  and  they  slept  by 

day, 
For  their   guide   was  a  beautiful,  wonderful 

star. 

The  star  was  so  beautiful,  large,  and  clear. 

That  all  the  other  stars  of  the  sky 
Became  a  white  mist  in  the  atmosphere. 
And  by  this  they  knew  that  the  coming  was  near 

Of  the  Prince  foretold  in  the  prophecy. 

Three  caskets  they  bore  on  their  saddle-bows. 

Three  caskets  of  gold  with  golden  keys  ; 
Their  robes  were  of  crimson  silk  with  rows 
Of  bells  and  pomegranates  and  furbelows. 
Their  turbans  like  blossoming  almond-trees. 

1  So,  according  to  old  tradition,  were  the   Kings  or 
Wise  Men  of  the  East  named. 
4 


For  we  in  the  East  have  seen  his  star, 
And  haA^e  ridden  fast,  and  have  ridden  far. 
To  find  and  worship  the  King  of  the  Jews." 

And  the  people  answered,  "  You  ask  in  vain ; 

We  know  of  no  king  but  Herod  the  Great !  " 
They  thought  the  Wise  Men  were  men  insane, 
As  they  spurred  their  horses  across  the  plain, 

Like  riders  in  haste,  and  who  cannot  wait. 

And  when  they  came  to  Jerusalem, 

Herod  the  Great,  who  had  heard  this  thing, 

Sent  for  the  Wise  Men  and  questioned  them  ; 

And  said,  "  Go  down  unto  Betlilehem, 
And  bring  me  tidings  of  this  new  king." 

So  they  rode  away  ;  and  the  star  stood  still, 
The  only  one  in  the  gray  of  morn  ; 

Yes,  it  stopped,  it  stood  still  of  its  own  free  will, 

Right  over  Bethlehem  on  the  hill. 

The  city  of  David  where  Christ  was  born. 


THE  THREE  KINGS.    '  '51 

And  the  Three  Kings  rode  through  the  gate  and 
the  guard, 
Through    the   silent   street,    till   their   horses 
turned 
And  neighed  as  they  entered  the  great  inn-yard  ; 
But  the  windows  were  closed,  and  the  doors  were 
barred, 
And  only  a  light  in  the  stable  burned. 

And  cradled  there  in  the  scented  hay, 

In  the  air  made  sweet  by  the  breath  of  kine. 
The  little  child  in  the  manger  lay. 
The  cliild,  that  would  be  king  one  day 
Of  a  kingdom  not  human  but  divine. 

His  mother  Mary  of  Nazareth 

Sat  watcliing  beside  his  place  of  rest. 
Watching  the  even  flow  of  his  breath, 
For  the  joy  of  life  and  the  terror  of  deatl 
Were  mingled  together  in  her  breast. 


Li 


They  laid  their  offerings  at  his  feet : 
The  gold  was  their  tribute  to  a  King, 

The  frankincense,  with  its  odor  sweet. 

Was  for  the  Priest,  the  Paraclete,^ 
The  myrrh  for  the  body's  burying. 

And  the  mother  wondered  and  bowed  her  head, 
And  sat  as  still  as  a  statue  of  stone ; 

^  The  Paraclete  is  the  Greek  for  Comforter,  the  name 
by  which  the  Holy  Spirit  is  sometimes  called  in  the  New 
Testament. 


52    "  THE   CASTLE  BY  THE  SEA. 

Her  heart  was  troubled  yet  comforted, 
Remembering  what  the  Angel  had  said 
Of  an  endless  reign  and  of  David's  throne. 

Then  the  Kings  rode  out  of  the  city  gate, 
With  a  clatter  of  hoofs  in  proud  array ; 
But  they  went  not  back  to  Herod  the  Great, 
For  they  knew  his  malice  and  feared  his  hate, 
And  returned  to  their  homes  by  another  way. 


THE   CASTLE   BY   THE   SEA.^ 

FROM    THE    GERMAX    OF   UHLAXD.^ 

"Hast  thou  seen  that  lordly  castle, 
That  Castle  by  the  Sea  ? 
Golden  and  red  above  it 

The  clouds  float  gorgeously. 

"  And  fain  it  would  stoop  downward 
To  the  mirrored  wave  below ; 
And  fain  it  would  soar  uj)ward 
In  the  evening's  crimson  glow." 

"  Well  have  I  seen  that  castle, 
That  Castle  by  the  Sea, 

1  The  quotation  marks  will  help  the  reader  to  see  that 
the  poem  is  a  dialogue  hetween  one  who  knew  only  of 
the  coming  marriage  of  a  princess,  and  one  who  knew  of 
the  calamity  which  had  interrupted  the  marriage. 

2  Uhland  was  a  German  poet,  who  was  born  in  1787 
and  died  in  1862. 


'■  Hast  thou  seen  that  lordly  castle, 
That  castle  by  the  sea  ? "' 

The  Castle  by  the  Sea. 


THE   CASTLE  BY  THE  SEA.  53 


And  the  moon  above  it  standing, 
And  the  mist  rise  solemnly. 


5> 


"  The  %\'inds  and  the  waves  of  ocean, 
Had  they  a  merry  chime  ? 
Didst  thou  hear,  from  those  lofty  chambers. 
The  harp  and  the  minstrel's  rhyme  !  " 

"  The  winds  and  the  waves  of  ocean, 
They  rested  quietly, 
But  I  heard  on  the  gale  a  sound  of  wail, 
And  tears  came  to  mine  eye." 

"  And  sawest  thou  on  the  turrets 
The  King  and  his  royal  bride  ? 
And  the  wave  of  their  crimson  mantles  ? 
And  the  golden  crown  of  pride  ? 

"  Led  they  not  forth,  in  rapture, 
A  beauteous  maiden  there  ? 
Resplendent  as  the  morning  sun. 
Beaming  with  golden  hair  ?  " 

"  Well  saw  I  the  ancient  parents. 
Without  the  crown  of  pride ; 
They  were  moving  slow,  in  weeds  of  woe, 
No  maiden  was  by  their  side !  " 


54     THE  FIFTIETH  BIRTHDAY  OF  AGASSIZ. 

THE   FIFTIETH   BIRTHDAY   OF  AGAS- 

SIZ.i 

May  28,  1857. 

It  was  fifty  years  ago 

In  the  j)leasant  month  of  May, 

In  the  beautiful  Pays  cle  Vaud, 
A. child  in  its  cradle  lay. 

And  Nature,  the  old  nurse,  took 

The  child  upon  her  knee. 
Saying  :   "  Here  is  a  story-book 

Thy  Father  has  written  for  thee." 

"  Code,  wander  with  me,"  she  said, 
"  Into  regions  yet  untrod  ; 
And  read  what  is  still  unread 
In  the  manuscripts  of  God." 

And  he  wandered  away  and  away 
With  Nature,  the  dear  old  nurse, 

Who  sang  to  him  night  and  day 
The  rhymes  of  the  universe. 

And  whenever  the  way  seemed  long. 

Or  his  heart  began  to  fail. 
She  would  sing  a  more  wonderful  song. 

Or  tell  a  more  marvellous  tale. 

1  Louis  John  Rudolph  Agassiz,  the  great  naturalist 
and  teacher,  was  born  in  Switzerland,  May  28,  1807,  and 
died  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  December  14,  1873. 


MAIDENHOOD.  55 

So  she  keeps  him  still  a  child, 

And  will  not  let  him  go, 
Thouoh  at  times  his  heart  heats  wild 

For  the  heautifiil  Pays  de  Vaud  ; 

Though  at  tunes  he  hears  in  his  dreams 

The  Ranz  des  Vaches  ^  of  old. 
And  the  rush  of  mountain  streams 

From  glaciers  clear  and  cold  ; 

And  the  mother  at  home  says,  "  Hark  ! 

For  his  voice  I  listen  and  yearn  ; 
It  is  growing  late  and  dark, 

And  my  boy  does  not  return  !  " 


IVIAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden  !  with  the  meek,  brown  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies 
Like  the  dusk  in  evening  skies  ! 

Thou  whose  locks  outshine  the  sun. 
Golden  tresses,  wreathed  in  one, 
As  the  braided  streamlets  run  ! 

Standing,  with  reluctant  feet. 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
"Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ! 

1  A  melody  played  by  the  Swiss  mountaineers  on  the 
Alphorn,  when  leading  the  cows  to  pasture,  or  calling 
them  home. 


56  MAIDENHOOD. 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance, 
On  the  brooklet's  swift  advance, 
On  the  river's  broad  expanse  ! 

Deep  and  still,  that  gliding  stream 
Beautiful  to  thee  must  seem, 
As  the  river  of  a  dream. 

Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
When  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to  fields  Elysian  ?  ^ 

Seest  thou  shadows  sailing  by, 
As  the  dove,  with  startled  eye. 
Sees  the  falcon's  shadow  fly  ? 

Hearest  thou  voices  on  the  shore. 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more. 
Deafened  by  the  cataract's  roar  ? 

O,  thou  child  of  many  prayers  ! 

Life  hath  quicksands,  —  Life  hath  snares  ! 

Care  and  age  come  unawares  ! 


"O" 


Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune. 
Morning  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 

1  The  Elysiau  fields  were  to  the  Roman  the  heavenly 
land  beyond  the  river  of  death,  and  the  poet  here  imag- 
ines them  as  the  happy  womanhood  to  wliicli  the  maiden 
is  looking  forward,  as  she  stands  just  ready  to  put  her 
childish  life  behind  her. 


TUE  POET  AND  HIS  SONGS.  57 

Cliildhoocl  is  the  bough,  where  slumbered 
Birds  and  blossoms  many-numbered  ;  — 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumbered. 

Gather,  then,  each  flower  that  grows, 
When  the  young  heart  overflows, 
To  embalm  that  tent  of  snows. 

Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  ; 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

Bear  through  sorrow,  wrong,  and  ruth. 
In  thy  heart  the  dew  of  youth. 
On  thy  lips  the  smile  of  truth. 

O,  that  dew,  like  balm,  shall  steal 
Into  wounds  that  cannot  heal, 
Even  as  sleep  our  eyes  doth  seal ; 

And  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  dart 
Into  many  a  sunless  heart. 
For  a  smile  of  God  thou  art. 


THE   POET  AND   HIS   SONGS. 

As  the  birds  come  in  the  Spring, 
We  know  not  from  where  ; 

As  the  stars  come  at  evening 
From  depths  of  the  air  ; 


58  THE  POET  AND  HIS  SONGS. 

As  the  rain  comes  from  the  cloud, 
And  the  brook  from  the  ground  ; 

As  suddenly,  low  or  loud, 
Out  of  silence  a  sound  ; 

As  the  grape  comes  to  the  vine, 

The  fruit  to  the  tree  ; 
As  the  wmd  comes  to  the  pine, 
,    And  the  tide  to  the  sea ; 

As  come  the  white  sails  of  ships 

O'er  the  ocean's  verge  ; 
As  comes  the  smile  to  the  lips. 

The  foam  to  the  surge  ; 

So  come  to  the  Poet  his  songs, 

All  hitherward  blown 
From  the  misty  realm,  that  belongs 

To  the  vast  Unknown. 

His,  and  not  his,  are  the  lays 

He  sings  ;  and  their  fame 
Is  his,  and  not  liis  ;  and  the  praise 

And  the  pride  of  a  name. 

For  voices  pursue  him  by  day, 

And  haunt  him  by  night. 
And  he  listens,  and  needs  must  obey. 

When  the  Angel  says  :  "  Write  !  "  ^ 

1  In  the  Eevelation  of  St.  John  the  Divine,  the  evan- 
gelist and  seer  repeatedly  declares  that  what  he  sets  down 
is  at. the  bidding  of  the  Angel  of  the  Lord;  so  the  poet 
obeys  a  voice  which  comes  from  above. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR.  59 


THE   SKELETON  IN  ARMOR.^ 

"  Speak  !  speak  I  thou  fearful  guest ! 
Who,  with  thy  hollow  breast 
Still  in  rude  armor  drest, 

Comest  to  daunt  me  ! 
Wrapt  not  in  Eastern  balms  ,^ 
But  with  thy  flesliless  palms 
Stretched,  as  if  asking  alms, 

Why  dost  thou  hamit  me  ?  " 

Then,  from  those  cavernous  eyes 
Pale  flashes  seemed  to  rise. 
As  when  the  Northern  skies 
Gleam  in  December ; 

1  "  This  ballad  was  suggested  to  me,"  says  Mr.  Long- 
fellow, "while  riding  on  the  sea-shore  at  Newport.  A 
year  or  two  previous  a  skeleton  had  been  dug  up  at  Fall 
River,  clad  in  broken  and  corroded  armor ;  and  the  idea 
occurred  to  me  of  connecting  it  with  the  Round  Tower 
at  Newport,  generally  known  hitherto  as  the  Old  "\l^^ind- 
mill,  though  now  claimed  by  the  Danes  as  a  work  of  their 
early  ancestors."  It  is  generally  conceded  now  that  the 
Norsemen  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  old  mill  at  New- 
port, which  is  a  close  copy  of  one  standing  at  Chesterton, 
in  "WarAvickshire,  England.  The  destruction  of  the  armor 
shortly  after  it  was  found  has  prevented  any  trustworthy 
examination  of  it,  to  see  if  it  was  really  Scandinavian  or 
only  Indian.  The  poet  sings  as  one  haunted  by  the  skel- 
eton, and  able  to  call  out  its  voice. 

2  This  old  warrior  was  not  embalmed  as  an  Egyptian 
mummy. 


60  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

And,  like  the  water's  flow 
Under  December's  snow, 
Came  a  dull  voice  of  woe 
From  the  heart's  chamber. 

"  I  was  a  Viking  ^  old  ! 
My  deeds,  though  manifold, 
No  Skald  ^  in  song  has  told. 

No  Saga  ^  taught  thee  ! 
Take  heed,  that  in  thy  verse 
Thou  dost  the  tale  rehearse, 
Else  dread  a  dead  man's  curse  ; 

For  this  I  sought  thee. 

"  Far  in  the  Northern  Land, 
By  the  wild  Baltic's  strand, 
I,  with  my  childish  hand. 

Tamed  the  gerfalcon  ; 
And,  with  my  skates  fast-bound, 
Skimmed  the  half-frozen  Sound, 
That  the  poor  whimjiering  hound 

Trembled  to  walk  on. 

1  The  Vik-ings  took  their  name  from  an  old  Norse 
word,  vih,  still  used  in  Norway,  signifying  creek,  because 
these  sea-pirates  made  their  haunts  among  the  indenta- 
tions of  the  coast,  and  sallied  out  thence  in  search  of 
booty. 

2  The  Skald  was  the  Norse  chronicler  and  poet  who 
sang  of  brave  deeds  at  the  feasts  of  the  warriors. 

2  The  Saga  was  the  saying  or  chronicle  of  the  heroic 
deeds.  There  are  many  of  these  old  sagas  still  preserved 
in  Northern  literature. 


THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR.  Gl 

"  Oft  to  his  frozen  lair 
Tracked  I  the  grisly  bear, 
Wliile  from  my  path  the  hare 

Fled  like  a  shadow  ; 
Oft  through  the  forest  dark 
Followed  the  werc-wolf 's  ^  bark,     - 
Until  the  soaring  lark 
Sang  from  the  meadow. 

"  But  when  I  older  grew, 
Joining  a  corsair's  crew. 
O'er  the  dark  sea  I  flew 
"With  the  marauders. 
Wild  was  the  life  we  led  ; 
Many  the  souls  that  sped, 
Many  the  hearts  that  bled. 
By  our  stern  orders. 

"  Many  a  wassail-bout 
Wore  the  long  winter  out ; 
Often  our  midnight  shout 
Set  the  cocks  crowing, 
As  we  the  Berserk's  ^  tale 

1  In  the  fables  of  Northern  Europe  there  were  said  to 
be  men  who  could  change  themselves  into  wolves  at  pleas- 
ure, and  they  were  called  were-wolves. 

2  There  was  a  famous  warrior  in  the  fabulous  history 
of  Norway  who  went  into  battle  bare  of  armor  (^^er  —  bare ; 
scerke  —  Vi  shirt  of  mail),  but  possessed  of  a  terrible  rage  ; 
he  had  twelve  sons  like  bimself,  who  Avcre  also  called 
Berserks  or  Berserkers,  and  the  phrase  Berserker  rage 
has  come  into  use  to  express  a  terrible  fury  which  makes 
a  man  fearless  and  strong. 


G2  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

Measured  in  cups  of  ale, 
Draining  tlie  oaken  pail, 
Filled  to  o'erflo^ving. 


u 


Once  as  I  told  in  glee 
Tales  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Soft  eyes  did  gaze  on  me, 

Burning,  yet  tender ; 
And  as  the  white  stars  shine 
On  the  dark  Norway  pine. 
On  that  dark  heart  of  mine 

Fell  their  soft  sj)lendor. 


"  I  wooed  the  blue-eyed  maid. 
Yielding,  yet  half  afraid. 
And  in  the  forest's  shade 

Our  vows  were  plighted. 
Under  its  loosened  vest 
Fluttered  her  little  breast, 
Like  birds  ^vithin  their  nest 

By  the  hawk  frighted. 

"  Bright  in  her  father's  hall 
Shields  gleamed  upon  the  wall. 
Loud  sang  the  minstrels  all. 

Chanting  his  glory ; 
When  of  old  Hildebrand 
I  asked  his  daughter's  hand. 
Mute  did  the  minstrels  stand 

To  hear  my  story. 

"  While  the  brown  ale  he  quaffed, 
Loud  then  the  champion  laughed. 


THE   SKELETON  JN  ARMOR.  63 

And  as  the  wind-gusts  waft 

The  sea-foam  brightly, 
So  the  loud  laugh  of  scorn, 
Out  of  those  lips  unshorn, 
From  the  deep  drinking-horn 

Blew  the  foam  lightly. 

"  She  was  a  Prince's  child, 
I  but  a  Viking  wild, 
And  though  she  blushed  and  smiled, 

I  was  discarded  ! 
Slioidd  not  the  dove  so  white 
Follow  the  sea-mew's  flight, 
Why  did  they  leave  that  night 

Her  nest  unguarded  ? 

"  Scarce  had  I  put  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  maid  with  me. 
Fairest  of  all  was  she 

Among  the  Norsemen  ! 
When  on  the  white  sea-strand, 
Waving  his  armed  hand. 
Saw  we  old  Hildebrand, 

With  twenty  horsemen. 

"  Then  launched  they  to  the  blast, 
Bent  like  a  reed  each  mast. 
Yet  we  were  gaining  fast. 

When  the  wind  failed  us  ; 
And  with  a  sudden  flaw 
Came  round  the  gusty  Skaw, 
So  that  our  foe  we  saw 

Laugh  as  he  hailed  us. 


64  THE  SKELETON  IN  ARMOR. 

^' And  as  to  catch  the  gale 
Round  veered  the  flapping  sail, 
Death !  was  the  helmsman's  hail, 

Death  without  quarter ! 
Mid-ships  with  iron  keel 
Struck  we  her  ribs  of  steel ; 
Down  her  black  hulk  did  reel 
Through  the  black  water ! 

"  As  with  his  v/ings  aslant, 
Sails  the  fierce  cormorant, 
Seeking  some  rocky  haunt. 

With  his  prey  laden. 
So  toward  the  open  main, 
Beating  to  sea  again, 
Through  the  wild  hurricane, 

Bore  I  the  maiden. 

"  Three  weeks  we  westward  bore, 
And  when  the  storm  was  o'er. 
Cloud-like  we  saw  the  shore 

Stretching  to  leeward  ; 
There  for  my  lady's  bower 
Built  I  the  lofty  tower. 
Which,  to  this  very  hour. 
Stands  looking-  seaward. 


"i3 


"  There  lived  we  many  years  ; 
Time  dried  the  maiden's  tears  ; 
She  had  forgot  her  fears. 

She  was  a  mother  ; 
Death  closed  her  mild  blue  eyes. 


"  I,  with  my  childish  hand, 
Tamed  the  gerfalcon." 

The  Skeleton  in  A  rmor. 


THE    WRECK   OF  THE  HESPERUS.         65 

Under  that  tower  she  lies  ; 
Ne'er  shall  the  sun  arise 
On  such  another ! 


"  Still  grew  my  bosom  then 
Still  as  a  stagnant  fen  ! 
Hateful  to  me  were  men, 

The  sunlight  hateful ! 
In  the  vast  forest  here, 
Clad  in  my  warlike  gear, 
Fell  I  upon  my  spear, 

O,  death  was  grateful ! 


"  Thus,  seamed  with  many  scars, 
Bursting  these  prison  bars. 
Up  to  its  native  stars 

My  soul  ascended  ! 
There  from  the  flowing  bowl 
Deep  drinks  the  warrior's  soul, 
Skoal  !  ^  to  the  Northland  \  skoal  !  " 

Thus  the  tale  ended. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE   HESPERUS. 

It  was  the  schooner  Hesperus, 
That  sailed  the  wintry  sea  ; 

1  "In  Scandinavia,"  snys  Mr.  Loni^fellow,  "  this  is  the 
customary  salutation  when  drinkinjj:  a   health.     I  have 
slightly  changed  the  orthography  of  the  word  [skaal]  in 
order  to  preserve  the  correct  pronunciation." 
5 


66         TEE  WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS. 

And  the  skij^per  had  taken  his  little  daughter, 
To  bear  him  company. 

Blue  were  her  eyes  as  the  fairy-flax, 
Her  cheeks  like  the  dawn  of  day, 

And  her  bosom  white  as  the  hawthorn  buds. 
That  ope  in  the  month  of  May. 

The  skipper  he  stood  beside  the  helm. 

His  pipe  was  in  his  mouth, 
And  he  watched  how  the  veering  flaw  did  blow 

The  smoke  now  West,  now  South. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  old  Sailor, 

Had  sailed  to  the  Spanish  Main,^ 

"  I  pray  thee,  put  into  yonder  port, 
For  I  fear  a  hurricane. 

"  Last  night,  the  moon  had  a  golden  ring. 
And  to-night  no  moon  we  see  !  " 

The  skij)per,  he  blcAv  a  whiff  from  his  pipe, 
And  a  scornful  laugh  laughed  he. 

Colder  and  Ipuder  blew  the  wind, 

A  gale  from  the  Northeast, 
The  snow  fell  hissing  in  the  brine. 

And  the  billows  frothed  like  yeast. 

Down  came  the  storm,  and  smote  amain 
The  vessel  in  its  strength  ; 

1  A  name  driven  to  the  northern  coast  of  South  Amer- 
ica,  after  its  discovery  by  the  Spaniards. 


THE    WRECK  OF  TUE   HESPERUS.         67 

She  shuddered  and  paused,  like  a  frighted  steed, 
Then  leaped  her  cable's  length. 

"  Come  hither  !  come  hither  !  my  little  daughter, 

And  do  not  tremble  so  ; 
For  I  can  weather  the  roughest  gale 

That  ever  wind  did  blow." 

He  wrapped  her  warm  in  his  seaman's  coat 

Against  the  stinging  blast ; 
He  cut  a  rope  from  a  broken  spar, 

And  bound  her  to  the  mast. 

"  O  father  !  I  hear  the  church-bells  ring, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  'T  is  a  fog-bell  on  a  rock-bound  coast !  "  — 

And  he  steered  for  the  open  sea. 

"  O  father  ! "  I  hear  the  sound  of  gims, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
"  Some  ship  in  distress,  that  cannot  live 

In  such  an  angry  sea !  " 

"  0  father !  I  see  a  gleaming  light, 

O  say,  what  may  it  be  ?  " 
But  the  father  answered  never  a  word, 

A  frozen  corpse  was  he. 

Lashed  to  the  helm,  all  stiff  and  stark, 
"With  his  face  turned  to  the  skies. 

The  lantern  gleamed  through  the  gleaming  snow 
On  his  fixed  and  glassy  eyes. 


68         THE    WRECK  OF  THE  HESPERUS. 

Then  the  maiden  clasped  her  hands  and  prayed 

That  saved  she  might  be  ; 
And  she  thought  of  Christ,  who  stilled  the  wave, 

On  the  Lake  of  Galilee. 

And  fast  through  the  midnight  dark  and  drear, 
Tlu"ough  the  whistling  sleet  and  snow, 

Like  a  sheeted  ghost,  the  vessel  swept 
Tow'rds  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe.^ 

And  ever  the  fitful  gusts  between 

A  sound  came  from  the  land ; 
It  was  the  sound  of  the  tramjDling  surf 

On  the  rocks  and  the  hard  sea-sand. 

The  breakers  were  right  beneath  her  bows, 

She  drifted  a  dreary  wreck. 
And  a  whooping  billow  swept  the  crew 

Like  icicles  from  her  deck. 

She  struck  where  the  white  and  fleecy  waves 

Looked  soft  as  carded  wool, 
But  the  cruel  rocks,  they  gored  her  side 

Like  the  horns  of  an  angry  bull. 

Her  rattling  shrouds,  all  sheathed  in  ice, 
With  the  masts  went  by  the  board ; 

1  A  barren,  rocky  reef  lyinc^off  the  coast  of  Cape  Ann, 
in  Massachusetts,  between  Magnolia  and  Gloucester, 
The  English,  in  early  New  England  days,  sometimes 
gave  the  name  of  looe  to  the  scene  of  marine  disaster,  as 
Thatcher's  Woe  on  the  same  coast,  near  Ipswich  River. 


PAUL  REVERE' S  RIDE.  69 

Like  a  vessel  of  glass,  she  stove  and  sank, 
Ho  I  ho  I  the  breakers  roared ! 

At  daybreak,  on  the  bleak  sea-beach, 

A  fisherman  stood  aghast, 
To  see  the  form  of  a  maiden  fair, 

Lashed  close  to  a  drifting  mast. 

The  salt  sea  was  frozen  on  her  breast, 

The  salt  tears  in  her  eyes  ; 
And  he  saw  her  hair,  like  the  brown  sea-weed, 

On  the  billows  fall  and  rise. 

Such  was  the  wreck  of  the  Hesperus, 

In  the  midnight  and  the  snow ! 
Christ  save  us  all  from  a  death  like  this, 

On  the  reef  of  Norman's  Woe  ! 


PAUL   REVERE'S   RIDE. 

Listen,  my  children,  and  you  shall  hear 

Of  the  midnight  ride  of  Paul  Revere,^ 

On  the  eighteenth  of  April,  in  Seventy-five  ; 

Hardly  a  man  is  now  alive 

Who  remembers  that  famous  day  and  year. 

1  Paul  Revere  was  a  leader  of  the  Boston  mechanics  in 
the  early  clays  of  the  Revolution  ;  he  was  himself  a 
worker  in  the  precious  metals  and  copper ;  a  numher  of 
engravings  exist  which  were  executed  hy  him;  he  rose 
to  be  lieutenant-colonel,  but  his  chief  fame  has  come  from 
the  exploit  which  Mr.  Longfellow  has  freely  narrated. 
The  ballad  makes  a  slight  variation  from  the  actual 
facts. 


70  PAUL  REVERE' S  RIDE. 

He  said  to  his  friend,  "  If  the  British  march 
By  land  or  sea  from  the  town  to-night, 
Hang  a  lantern  aloft  in  the  belfry  arch 
Of  the  North  Church  ^  tower  as  a  signal  light, 
One,  if  by  land,  and  two,  if  by  sea ; 
And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be. 
Ready  to  ride,  and  spread  the  alarm 
Through  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm, 
For  the  country  folk  to  be  up  and  to  arm." 

Then  he  said,  "  Good-night !  "  and  with  muffled 

oar 
Silently  rowed  to  the  Charlestown  shore, 
Just  as  the  moon  rose  over  the  bay. 
Where  swinging  wide  at  her  moorings  lay 
The  Somerset,  British  man-of-war  ; 
A  phantom  ship,  with  each  mast  and  spar 
Across  the  moon  like  a  prison  bar. 
And  a  huge  black  hulk,  that  was  magnified 
By  its  own  reflection  in  the  tide. 

Meanwhile,  his  friend,  through  alley  and  street, 
Wanders  and  watches  with  eager  ears, 
Till  in  the  silence  around  him  he  hears 
The  muster  of  men  at  the  barrack  door, 

1  There  has  been  a  dispute  Avhether  the  North  Church 
was  Christ  Church,  in  Salem  Street,  Boston,  still  stand- 
ing, and  commonly  called  at  that  time  the  North  Church, 
or  the  Old  North  Church,  which  stood  in  North  Square, 
and  was  taken  down  by  the  British  for  fire-wood,  during 
the  siege  of  Boston,  but  the  weight  of  testimony  inclines 
to  the  side  of  Christ  Church,  and  a  tablet  commemorating 
the  affair  lias  accordingly  been  inserted  in  the  wall. 


PAUL  REVERE' S  RIDE.  71 

The  sound  of  arms,  and  the  tramp  of  feet, 
And  the  measured  treatl  of  the  grenadiers, 
Marchhig  down  to  their  boats  on  the  shore. 

Then  he  climbed  the  tower  of   the  Old  North 

Church, 
By  the  wooden  stairs,  with  stealthy  tread, 
To  the  belfry-chamber  overhead. 
And  startled  the  pigeons  from  their  perch 
On  the  sombre  rafters,  that  round  him  made 
Masses  and  moving  shapes  of  shade,  — 
By  the  trembling  ladder,  steep  and  tall. 
To  the  highest  window  in  the  wall, 
Where  he  paused  to  listen  and  look  down 
A  moment  on  the  roofs  of  the  town. 
And  the  moonlight  flowing  over  all. 

Beneath,  in  the  churchyard,  lay  the  dead, 

In  their  night-encampment  on  the  hill. 

Wrapped  in  silence  so  deep  and  still 

That  he  could  hear,  like  a  sentinel's  tread, 

The  watchful  night-wind,  as  it  went 

Creeping  along  from  tent  to  tent, 

And  seeming  to  whisper,  "  All  is  well  I  " 

A  moment  only  he  feels  the  siDell 

Of  the  place  and  the  hour,  and  the  secret  dread 

Of  the  lonely  belfry  and  the  dead ; 

For  suddenly  all  his  thoughts  are  bent 

On  a  shadowy  something  far  away. 

Where  the  river  widens  to  meet  the  bay,  — 

A  line  of  black  that  bends  and  floats 

On  the  rising  tide,  like  a  bridge  of  boats. 


72  PAUL  REVERE' S  RIDE. 

Meanwhile,  impatient  to  mount  and  ride, 
Booted  and  spurred,  with  a  heavy  stride 
On  the  oj^posite  shore  walked  Paul  Revere. 
Now  he  i^atted  his  horse's  side, 
Now  gazed  at  the  landscape  far  and  near, 
Then,  impetuous,  stamped  the  earth. 
And  turned  and  tightened  his  saddle-girth  ; 
But  mostly  he  watched  with  eager  search 
The  belfry-tower  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
As  it  rose  above  the  graves  on  the  hill. 
Lonely  and  spectral  and  sombre  and  still. 
And  lo  !  as  he  looks,  on  the  belfry's  height 
A  glimmer,  and  then  a  gleam  of  light ! 
He  springs  to  the  saddle,  the  bridle  he  turns, 
But  lingers  and  gazes,  till  full  on  his  sight 
A  second  lamp  in  the  belfry  burns  ! 

A  hurry  of  hoofs  in  a  village  street, 

A  shape  in  the  moonlight,  a  bulk  in  the  dark, 

And   beneath,  from   the   pebbles,  in   passing,  a 

sj)ark 
Struck  out  by  a  steed  flying  fearless  and  fleet : 
That  was  all !     And  yet,  through  the  gloom  and 

the  light. 
The  fate  of  a  nation  was  riding  that  night ; 
And  the  spark  struck  out  by  that  steed,  in  his 

flight. 
Kindled  the  land  into  flame  with  its  heat. 

He  has  left  the  village  and  mounted  the  steep, 
And  beneath  him,  tranquil  and  broad  and  deep, 
Is  the  Mystic,  meeting  the  ocean  tides ; 


"  And  I  on  the  opposite  shore  will  be, 
Ready  to  ride  and  spread  the  alarm." 

Paul  Revere'' s  Ride. 


PAUL  REVERE' S  RIDE  73 

And  under  the  alders,  that  skirt  its  edge, 
Now  soft  on  the  sand,  now  loud  on  the  ledge, 
Is  heard  the  tramp  of  his  steed  as  he  rides. 

It  was  twelve  by  the  village  clock  • 

When  he  crossed  the  bridge  into  Medford  town. 
He  heard  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 
And  the  barkino:  of  the  farmer's  dog, 
And  felt  the  damp  of  the  river  fog, 
That  rises  after  the  sun  goes  down. 

It  was  one  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  galloped  into  Lexington. 

He  saw  the  gilded  weathercock 

Swim  in  the  moonlight  as  he  passed. 

And  the  meeting-house  windows,  blank  and  bare, 

Gaze  at  liim  with  a  spectral  glare, 

As  if  they  already  stood  aghast 

At  the  bloody  work  tliey  would  look  upon. 

It  was  two  by  the  village  clock, 

When  he  came  to  the  bridge  in  Concord  town. 

He  heard  the  bleating  of  the  flock, 

And  the  twitter  of  birds  among  the  trees. 

And  felt  the  breath  of  the  morning  breeze 

Blowing  over  the  meadows  brown. 

And  one  was  safe  and  asleep  in  his  bed 

Who  at  the  bridge  would  be  first  to  fall, 

Who  that  day  would  be  lying  dead. 

Pierced  by  a  British  musket-ball. 

You  know  the  rest.    In  the  books  you  have  read. 
How  the  British  Regulars  fired  and  fled,  — 


74  THE  SONG   OF  HIAWATHA. 

How  the  farmers  gave  them  ball  for  ball, 
From  beliinci  each  fence  and  farm-yard  wall, 
Chasmg  the  red-coats  down  the  lane, 
Then  crossing  the  fields  to  emerge  again 
Under  the  trees  at  the  turn  of  the  road, 
And  only  pausing  to  fire  and  load. 

So  through  the  night  rode  Paul  Revere  ; 

And  so  through  the  night  went  liis  cry  of  alarm 

To  every  Middlesex  village  and  farm,  — 

A  cry  of  defiance  and  not  of  fear, 

A  voice  in  the  darkness,  a  knock  at  the  door, 

And  a  word  that  shall  echo  f  orevermore  ! 

For,  borne  on  the  night-wind  of  the  Past, 

Tlirough  all  oiu'  history,  to  the  last. 

In  the  hour  of  darkness  and  peril  and  need, 

The  people  will  waken  and  listen  to  hear 

The  hurrying  hoof-beats  of  that  steed, 

And  the  midnight  message  of  Paul  Revere. 


THE   SONG  OF  HIAWATHA. 

This  poem,  in  Mr.  Long-fellow's  words,  "  is 
founded  on  a  tradition  prevalent  among  the 
North  American  Indians,  of  a  jDersonage  of  mi- 
raculous birth,  who  was  sent  among  them  to  clear 
their  rivers,  forests,  and  fishing-grounds,  and  to 
teach  them  the  art  of  peace."  He  was  known  by 
different  names  among  different  tribes,  one  of  the 
names  being  Hiawatha.  "  The  scene  of  the  poem 
is  among  the  Ojibways,  on  tlie  southern  shore  of 


HIAWATHA'S  CHILDHOOD.  75 

Lake  Superior,  in  the  region  between  the  pict- 
ured rocks  and  the  Grand  Sable."  The  poem  is 
in  twenty-two  parts,  three  of  them  being  here 
given.  The  first  relates  the  story  of  his  birth 
and  childhood.  The  Indian  names  in  the  poem 
have  usually  the  translation  given  into  English  in 
the  same  or  the  next  line,  as  — 

"  On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow  ;  " 
"  Of  the  West-Wiud,  Mudjekeewis  ;  " 
•'  By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gnmee, 
By  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water ;  " 

where  Muskoday  is  Indian  for  meadow,  Mudje- 
keewis for  the  West-Wind,  and  Gitche  Gumee  is 
translated  by  Big-Sea- Water. 

Hiawatha's  childhood. 
Downward  through  the  evening  twilight, 
In  the  days  that  are  forgotten. 
In  the  unremembered  ages, 
From  the  full  moon  fell  Nokomis,^ 
Fell  the  beautiful  Nokomis, 
She  a  wife,  but  not  a  mother. 

She  was  sporting  with  her  women 
Swinging  in  a  swing  of  gTape-vines, 
When  her  rival,  the  rejected. 
Full  of  jealousy  and  hatred. 
Cut  the  leafy  swing  asunder. 
Cut  in  twain  the  twisted  grape-vines, 
And  Nokomis  fell  affrighted 
Downward  through  the  evening  twilight, 
On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow, 
1  Indian  for  grandmother. 


76  HIAWATHA'S  CHILDHOOD. 

On  the  ]3rairie  full  of  blossoms. 
"  See  !  a  star  falls  !  "  said  the  people  ; 
"  From  the  sky  a  star  is  falling  !  " 

There  among  the  ferns  and  mosses, 

There  among  the  prairie  lilies, 

On  the  Muskoday,  the  meadow, 

In  the  moonlight  and  the  starlight, 

Fair  Nokomis  bore  a  dauohter. 

O 

And  she  called  her  name  Wenonah, 
As  the  first-born  of  her  daughters. 
And  the  daughter  of  Nokomis 
Grew  up  like  the  prairie  lilies, 
Grew  a  tall  and  slender  maiden. 
With  the  beauty  of  the  moonlight. 
With  the  beauty  of  the  starlight. 

And  Nokomis  warned  her  often. 
Saying  oft,  and  oft  repeating, 
"  O,  beware  of  Mudjekeewis  ; 
Of  the  West-Wind,  Mudjekeewis  ; 
Listen  not  to  what  he  tells  you  ; 
Lie  not  doAvn  upon  the  meadow. 
Stoop  not  down  among  the  lilies. 
Lest  the  West- Wind  come  and  harm  vou  !  " 

But  she  heeded  not  the  warning. 
Heeded  not  those  words  of  wisdom. 
And  the  West- Wind  came  at  evening. 
Walking  lightly  o'er  the  prairie, 
Whispering  to  the  leaves  and  blossoms. 
Bending  low  the  flowers  and  grasses, 
Found  the  beautiful  Wenonah, 
Lying  there  among  the  lilies. 
Wooed  her  with  his  words  of  sweetness, 


HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD.  77 

Wooed  her  with  liis  soft  caresses, 

Till  she  bore  a  son  in  sorro^Y, 

Bore  a  son  of  love  and  sorrow. 
Thus  was  born  my  Hiawatha, 

Thus  was  born  the  child  of  wonder ; 

But  the  daughter  of  Nokomis, 

Hiawatha's  gentle  mother. 

In  her  anguish  died  deserted 

By  the  West-Wind,  false  and  faithless, 

By  the  heartless  Mudjekeewis. 

For  her  daughter,  long  and  loudly 

Wailed  and  wept  the  sad  Nokomis  ; 
"  0  that  I  were  dead  !  "  she  murmured, 
"  0  that  I  were  dead,  as  thou  art ! 

No  more  work,  and  no  more  weeping, 

Wahonowin  !  Wahonowin  !  "  -^ 
By  the  shores  of  Gitche  Gumee,^ 

By  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water, 

Stood  the  wig'wam  of  Nokomis, 

Daughter  of  the  Moon,  Nokomis. 

Dark  behind  it  rose  the  forest. 

Rose  the  black  and  gloomy  pine-trees, 

Rose  the  firs  with  cones  upon  them  ; 

Bright  before  it  beat  the  water. 

Beat  the  clear  and  sunny  water, 

Beat  the  shininof  Bijr-Sea-Water. 
There  the  wrinkled,  old  Nokomis 

Nursed  the  little  Hiawatha,^ 

Rocked  him  in  liis  linden  cradle, 

1  A  cry  of  lamentation. 

2  Big-Sea- Water,  our  Lake  Superior. 
8  Hiawatha  means  the  Wise  Man. 


78  HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD. 

Bedded  soft  in  moss  and  rushes, 
Safely  bound  with  reindeer  sinews  ; 
Stilled  his  fretful  wail  by  saying, 
"  Hush  !  the  Naked  Bear  will  hear  thee  !  " 
Lulled  him  into  slumber,  singing, 

"  Ewa-yea  !  ^  my  little  owlet ! 
Who  is  tliis,  that  lights  the  wigwam  ? 
With  his  great  eyes  lights  the  wigwam  ? 
Ewa-yea  1  my  little  owlet  I  " 

Many  things  Nokomis  taught  liim 
Of  the  stars  that  shine  in  heaven  ; 
Showed  him  Ishkoodah,  the  comet, 
Ishkoodah,  with  fiery  tresses  ; 
Showed  the  Death-Dance  of  the  spirits, 
Warriors  with  their  plumes  and  war-clubs. 
Flaring  far  away  to  northward 
In  the  frosty  nights  of  Winter  ;  ^ 
Showed  the  broad,  white  road  in  heaven, 
Pathway  of  the  ghosts,  the  shadows, 
Runnino:  straidit  across  the  heavens, 
Crowded  with  the  ghosts,  the  shadows.^ 

At  the  door  on  summer  evenings 
Sat  the  little  Hiawatha  ; 
Heard  the  whispering  of  the  pine-trees, 

<  Heard  the  lapping  of  the  water. 
Sounds  of  music,  words  of  wonder  ; 

"  Minne-wawa  !  "  ^  said  the  pine-trees, 

"  Mudway-aushka  I  "  ^  said  the  water. 

1  Lullaby.  2  The  Northern  Lights. 

3  The  Milky  Way. 

4  A  pleasant  sound,  as  of  the  wind  in  the  trees. 

5  Sound  of  waves  on  a  shore. 


HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD.  79 

4 

Saw  the  fire-fly,  Wah-wah-taysee, 
Flitting  through  the  dusk  of  evening, 
With  the  twmkle  of  its  candle' 
Lighting  up  the  brakes  and  bushes, 
And  he  sang  the  song  of  children, 
Sang  the  song  Nokomis  taught  him  : 
"  Wah-wah-taysee,  little  fire-fly. 
Little,  flitting,  wliite-fire  insect. 
Little,  dancing,  white-fii'e  creature, 
Light  me  vnth  your  little  candle. 
Ere  upon  my  bed  I  lay  me, 
Ere  in  sleep  I  close  my  eyelids  I  " 

Saw  the  moon  rise  from  the  water 
Rippling,  rounding  from  the  water, 
Saw  the  flecks  and  shadows  on  it. 
Whispered,  "What  is  that,  Nokomis?" 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
"  Once  a  warrior,  very  angry. 
Seized  his  grandmother,  and  threw  her 
Up  into  the  sky  at  midnight ; 
Right  against  the  moon  he  threw  her ; 
'T  is  her  body  that  you  see  there." 
Saw  the  rainbow  in  the  heaven. 
In  the  eastern  sky,  the  rainbow, 
Wliispered,  "  What  is  that,  Nokomis  ?  " 
And  the  good  Nokomis  answered  : 
"  'T  is  the  heaven  of  flowers  you  see  there  ; 
All  the  wild-flowers  of  the  forest, 
All  the  lilies  of  the  prairie, 
When  on  earth  they  fade  and  perish. 
Blossom  in  that  heaven  above  us." 
When  he  heard  the  owls  at  midnight, 


80  HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD, 

Hooting,  laughing  in  the  forest, 
"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  cried  in  terror ; 
"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  said,  "  Nokomis  ?  " 

And  the  good  Nokomis  answered : 
"  That  is  but  the  owl  and  owlet. 
Talking  in  their  native  language, 
Talking,  scolding  at  each  other.'* 

Then  the  little  Hiawatha 
Learned  of  every  bird  its  language, 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  they  built  their  nests  in  Summer, 
Where  they  hid  themselves  in  Winter, 
Talked  with  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Chickens." 

Of  all  beasts  he  learned  the  language, 
Learned  their  names  and  all  their  secrets, 
How  the  beavers  built  their  lodges. 
Where  the  squirrels  hid  their  acorns. 
How  the  reindeer  ran  so  swiftly, 
Why  the  rabbit  was  so  timid, 
Talked  wdth  them  whene'er  he  met  them, 
Called  them  "  Hiawatha's  Brothers." 

Then  lagoo,  the  great  boaster. 
He  the  marvellous  story-teller. 
He  the  traveller  and  the  talker, 
He  the  friend  of  old  Nokomis, 
Made  a  boAV  for  Hiawatha  ; 
From  a  branch  of  ash  he  made  it, 
From  an  oak-bough  made  the  arrows, 
TijDped  with  flint,  and  winged  with  feathers, 
And  the  cord  he  made  of  deer-skin. 
Then  he  said  to  Hiawatha  : 


HIAWATHA'S   CHILDHOOD.  81 

"  Go,  my  son,  into  the  forest, 
Where  the  red  deer  herd  together, 
Kill  for  us  a  famous  roebuck. 
Kill  for  us  a  deer  with  antlers  !  " 

Forth  into  the  forest  straightway- 
All  alone  walked  Hiawatha 
Proudly,  with  his  bow  and  arrows  ; 
And  the  birds  sang  round  him,  o'er  him. 
"  Do  not  shoot  us,  Hiawatha  !  " 
Sang  the  robin,  the  Oi^echee, 
Sang  the  bluebird,  the  Owaissa, 
"  Do  not  shoot  us,  Hiawatha  !  " 

Up  the  oak-tree,  close  beside  him, 
SjDrang  the  squirrel,  Adjidaumo, 
In  and  out  among  the  branches, 
Coughed  and  chattered  from  the  oak-tree, 
Laughed,  and  said  between  his  laughing, 
"  Do  not  shoot  me,  Hiawatha  !  " 

And  the  rabbit  from  his  pathway 
Leaped  aside,  and  at  a  distance 
Sat  erect  upon  his  haunches, 
Half  in  fear  and  half  in  frolic. 
Saying  to  the  little  hmiter, 
"  Do  not  shoot  me,  Hiawatha  !  " 

But  he  heeded  not,  nor  heard  them. 
For  his  thoughts  were  with  the  red  deer ; 
On  their  tracks  liis  eyes  were  fastened, 
Leading  downward  to  the  river, 
To  the  ford  across  the  river, 
And  as  one  in  slumber  walked  he. 

Hidden  in  the  alder-bushes. 
There  he  waited  tiU  the  deer  came, 
6 


82  HIAWATHA'S  CHILDHOOD. 

Till  he  saw  two  antlers  lifted, 
Saw  two  eyes  look  from  the  thicket, 
Saw  two  nostrils  point  to  windward, 
And  a  deer  came  down  the  pathway, 
Flecked  with  leafy  light  and  shadow. 
And  his  heart  within  him  fluttered. 
Trembled  like  the  leaves  above  him, 
Like  the  birch-leaf  palpitated. 
As  the  deer  came  down  the  pathway. 

Then,  upon  one  knee  uprising, 
Hiawatha  aimed  an  arrow  ; 
Scarce  a  twig  moved  with  his  motion, 
Scarce  a  leaf  was  stirred  or  rustled, 
But  the  wary  roebuck  started, 
Stamped  with  all  his  hoofs  together, 
Listened  with  one  foot  uplifted. 
Leaped  as  if  to  meet  the  arrow ; 
Ah  !  the  singing,  fatal  arrow, 
Like  a  wasp  it  buzzed  and  stung  him  ! 

Dead  he  lay  there  in  the  forest, 
By  the  ford  across  the  river ; 
Beat  his  timid  heart  no  longer, 
But  the  heart  of  HiaAvatha 
Throbbed  and  shouted  and  exulted, 
As  he  bore  the  red  deer  homeward, 
And  lagoo  and  Nokomis 
Hailed  his  coming  with  applauses. 

From  the  red  deer's  hide  Nokomis 
Made  a  cloak  for  Hiawatha, 
From  the  red  deer's  flesh  Nokomis 
Made  a  banquet  in  his  honor. 
All  the  village  came  and  feasted, 


HIAWATHA'S  SAILING.  83 

All  the  guests  praised  Hia\yatlia, 
Called  liim  Strong-Heart,  Soan-ge-taha  ! 
Called  liim  Loon-Heart,  Malm-go-taysee  ! 


Hiawatha's  sailixg. 
"  Give  me  of  your  bark,  O  Birch-Tree  ! 
Of  your  yellow  bark,  O  Birch-Tree  ! 
Growing  by  the  rushing  river, 
Tall  and  stately  in  the  valley ! 
I  a  light  canoe  wiU  build  me, 
Build  a  swift  Cheemaun  ^  for  sailing, 
That  shall  float  upon  the  river. 
Like  a  yellow  leaf  in  Autinnn, 
Like  a  yellow  water-lily ! 

"  Lay  aside  your  cloak,  O  Birch-Tree  ! 
Lay  aside  your  white-skin  wrapper. 
For  the  Summer-tune  is  coming, 
And  the  sun  is  warm  in  heaven. 
And  you  need  no  wliite-sldn  wrapper  !  " 

Thus  aloud  cried  Hiawatha 
In  the  solitary  forest. 
By  the  rusliing  Taquamenaw, 
When  the  birds  were  singing  gayly. 
In  the  Moon  of  Leaves  ^  were  singing. 
And  the  sun,  from  sleep  awaking, 
Started  up  and  said,  "  Behold  me  ! 
Geezis,  the  gi-eat  Sun,  behold  me  !  " 

^  A  birch  canoe. 

2  In  May,  the  mouth  when  the  leaves  come  out.  The 
Indians  reckon  by  moons,  and  our  word  month  is  itself 
formed  from  moon. 


84  HIAWATHA'S  SAILING. 

And  the  tree  with  all  its  branches 
Rustled  in  the  breeze  of  morning, 
Saying,  with  a  sigh  of  patience, 
"  Take  my  cloak,  O  Hiawatha !  " 

With  his  knife  the  tree  he  girdled  ; 
Just  beneath  its  lowest  branches, 
Just  above  the  roots,  he  cut  it. 
Till  the  sap  came  oozing  outward  ; 
Down  the  trunk,  from  top  to  bottom. 
Sheer  he  cleft  the  bark  asunder, 
With  a  wooden  wedge  he  raised  it, 
Stripped  it  from  the  trunk  unbroken. 

"  Give  me  of  your  boughs,  0  Cedar ! 
Of  your  strong  and  pliant  branches, 
My  canoe  to  make  more  steady. 
Make  more  strong  and  firm  beneath  me  !  " 

Throudi  the  summit  of  the  Cedar 
Went  a  sound,  a  cry  of  horror, 
Went  a  murmur  of  resistance  ; 
But  it  whispered,  bending  downward, 
"  Take  my  boughs,  O  Hiawatha  !  " 

Down  he  hewed  the  boughs  of  cedar, 
Shaped  them  straightway  to  a  framework, 
Like  two  bows  he  formed  and  shaj^ed  them. 
Like  two  bended  bows  together. 

"  Give  me  of  your  roots,  0  Tamarack  ! 
Of  your  fibrous  roots,  O  Larch-Tree  ! 
My  canoe  to  bind  together, 
So  to  bind  the  ends  together 
That  the  water  may  not  enter, 
That  the  river  may  not  wet  me  !  " 


HIAWATHA'S   SAILING.  85 

And  the  Larch,  with  all  its  fibres, 
Shivered  in  the  air  of  morning, 
Touched  his  forehead  with  its  tassels, 
Said,  with  one  long  sigh  of  sorrow, 
"  Take  them  all,  O  Hiawatha !  " 

From  the  earth  he  tore  the  fibres. 
Tore  the  tough  roots  of  the  Larch-Tree, 
Closely  sewed  the  bark  together. 
Bound  it  closely  to  the  framework. 

"  Give  me  of  your  balm,  O  Fir-Tree  ! 
Of  your  balsam  and  your  resin, 
So  to  close  the  seams  together 
That  the  water  may  not  enter, 
That  the  river  may  not  wet  me  !  " 

And  the  Fir-Tree,  tall  and  sombre. 
Sobbed  through  all  its  robes  of  darkness, 
Rattled  like  a  shore  with  jDebbles, 
Answered  wailing,  answered  weeping, 
"  Take  my  balm,  O  Hiawatha  !  " 

And  he  took  the  tears  of  balsam. 
Took  the  resin  of  the  Fir-Tree, 
Smeared  therewith  each  seam  and  fissure. 
Made  each  crevice  safe  from  water. 

"  Give  me  of  your  quills,  O  Hedgehog ! 
All  your  quills,  O  Kagh,  the  Hedgehog  ! 
I  will  make  a  necklace  of  them, 
Make  a  girdle  for  my  beauty, 
And  two  stars  to  deck  her  bosom  !  " 

From  a  hollow  tree  the  Hedirehosr 
With  his  sleepy  eyes  looked  at  him. 
Shot  his  shining  quills,  like  arrows. 
Saying,  with  a  drowsy  murmur. 


86  HIAWATHA'S  SAILING. 

Through  the  tangle  of  his  whiskers, 
''  Take  my  quills,  O  Hiawatha  !  " 

From  the  ground  the  quills  he  gathered, 
All  the  little  shining  arrows, 
Stained  them  red  and  blue  and  yellow. 
With  the  juice  of  roots  and  berries  ; 
Into  his  canoe  he  wrought  them, 
Round  its  waist  a  shining  girdle. 
Round  its  bows  a  gleaming  necklace, 
On  its  breast  two  stars  resplendent. 

Thus  the  Birch  Canoe  was  builded 
In  the  valley,  by  the  river. 
In  the  bosom  of  the  forest ; 
And  the  forest's  life  was  in  it, 
All  its  mystery  and  its  magic. 
All  the  lightness  of  the  birch-tree. 
All  the  toughness  of  the  cedar. 
All  the  larch's  supple  sinews  ; 
And  it  floated  on  the  river 
Like  a  yellow  leaf  in  Autumn, 
Like  a  yellow  water-lily. 

Paddles  none  had  Hiawatha, 
Paddles  none  he  had  or  needed. 
For  his  thoughts  as  paddles  served  him, 
And  his  wishes  served  to  guide  him  ; 
Swift  or  slow  at  will  he  glided. 
Veered  to  right  or  left  at  pleasure. 

Then  he  called  aloud  to  Kwasind,-^ 
To  his  friend,  the  strong  man,  Kwasind, 
Saying,  "  HeljD  me  clear  this  river 
Of  its  sunken  logs  and  sand-bars." 

1  Kwasind  is  the  Strong  Man. 


HIAWATHA'S  FISHING.  87 

Straight  into  the  river  Kwasind 
Phmged  as  if  he  were  an  otter, 
Dived  as  if  he  were  a  heaver, 
Stood  up  to  his  waist  in  water. 
To  his  arm-pits  in  the  river. 
Swam  and  shouted  in  the  river. 
Tugged  at  sunken  logs  and  branches, 
With  his  hands  he  scooped  the  sand-bars. 
With  liis  feet  the  ooze  and  tanole. 

And  thus  sailed  my  Hiawatha 
Down  the  rushing  Taquamenaw, 
Sailed  tlu'ough  all  its  bends  and  windings, 
Sailed  through  all  its  deeps  and  shallows, 
Wliile  his  friend,  the  strong  man,  Kwasind, 
Swam  the  deeps,  the  shallows  waded. 

Up  and  down  the  river  went  they. 
In  and  out  among  its  islands, 
Cleared  its  bed  of  root  and  sand-bar. 
Dragged  the  dead  trees  from  its  channel, 
Made  its  passage  safe  and  certain, 
Made  a  pathway  for  the  people, 
From  its  springs  among  the  mountains. 
To  the  waters  of  Pauwating,^ 
To  the  bay  of  Taquamenaw. 

Hiawatha's  fishixg. 

Forth  upon  the  Gitche  Gumee, 
On  the  shining  Big-Sea-Water, 
With  liis  fishing-line  of  cedar, 
Of  the  twisted  bark  of  cedar. 
Forth  to  catch  the  sturgeon  Nahma, 

1  Known  now  as  the  Saut  Sainte  ]Marie. 


88  HIAWATHA'S  FISHING. 

Mishe-Nahma/  King  of  Fishes, 
In  his  birch  canoe  exulting 
All  alone  went  HiaAvatha. 

Through  the  clear,  transparent  water 
He  could  see  the  fishes  swimminsf 
Far  down  in  the  depths  below  liim  ; 
See  the  yellow  perch,  the  SaliAva, 
Like  a  sunbeam  in  the  water, 
See  the  Shawgashee,  the  craw-fish, 
Like  a  spider  on  the  bottom. 
On  the  white  and  sandy  bottom. 

At  the  stern  sat  Hiawatha, 
With  his  fishing-lme  of  cedar  ; 
Li  his  plumes  the  breeze  of  morning 
Played  as  in  the  hemlock  branches  ; 
On  the  bows,  with  tail  erected. 
Sat  the  squirrel,  Adjidaumo  ; 
Li  his  fur  the  breeze  of  morning 
Played  as  in  the  prairie  grasses. 

On  the  white  sand  of  the  bottom 
Lay  the  monster  Mishe-Nahma, 
Lay  the  sturgeon.  King  of  Fishes ; 
Through  his  gills  he  breathed  the  water, 
With  his  fins  he  fanned  and  winnowed, 
With  his  tail  he  swept  the  sand-floor. 

There  he  lay  in  all  his  armor  ; 
On  each  side  a  shield  to  guard  him. 
Plates  of  bone  upon  his  forehead, 
Down  his  sides  and  back  and  shoulders 
Plates  of  bone  with  spines  projecting ! 
Painted  was  he  with  his  war-paints, 
1  The  great  sturgeon. 


^^^>t;^X  X^^^^v^ 


"  And  as  he  drew  it  in,  it  tugged  so 
That  the  birch  canoe  stood  endwise." 

Hiawatha  Fishing. 


HIAWATHA'S   FISHING.  89 

Stripes  of  yellow,  red,  and  azure, 
Spots  of  brown  and  spots  of  sable ; 
And  he  lay  there  on  the  bottom. 
Fanning  with  his  fins  of  purple, 
As  above  him  Hiawatha 
In  liis  birch  canoe  came  sailing. 
With  his  fishing-line  of  cedar. 
"  Take  my  bait,"  cried  Hiawatha, 
Down  into  the  depths  beneath  him, 
"  Take  my  bait,  O  Sturgeon,  Nahma ! 
Come  up  from  below  the  water. 
Let  us  see  wliich  is  the  stronger  1  " 
And  he  dropped  his  line  of  cedar 
Through  the  clear,  transparent  water, 
Waited  vainly  for  an  answer. 
Long  sat  waiting  for  an  answer. 
And  repeating  loud  and  louder, 
"  Take  my  bait,  O  King  of  Fishes  !  " 
Quiet  lay  the  sturgeon,  Nahma, 
Fanning  slowly  in  the  water, 
Looking  up  at  Hiawatha, 
Listening  to  his  call  and  clamor. 
His  umiecessary  tumult, 
Till  he  wearied  of  the  shouting  ; 
And  he  said  to  the  Kenozha, 
To  the  pike,  the  Maskenozha, 
"  Take  the  bait  of  this  rude  fellow, 
Break  the  line  of  Hiawatha  I  " 

In  his  fingers  Hiawatha 
Felt  the  loose  line  jerk  and  tighten  ; 
As  he  drew  it  in,  it  tugged  so 
That  the  birch  canoe  stood  end^vise. 


90  HIAWATHA'S  FISHING. 

Like  a  birch  log  in  the  water, 
With  the  squirrel,  Adjidaiuno, 
Perched  and  frisking  on  the  summit. 

Full  of  scorn  was  Hiawatha 
When  he  saw  the  fish  rise  upward. 
Saw  the  pike,  the  Maskenozha, 
Coming  nearer,  nearer  to  him, 
And  he  shouted  through  the  water, 

"  Esa !  esa  I  shame  ujDon  you ! 
You  are  but  the  pike,  Kenozha, 
You  are  not  the  fish  I  wanted. 
You  are  not  the  King  of  Fishes  !  " 
Reeling  downward  to  the  bottom 
Sank  the  pike  in  great  confusion. 
And  the  mighty  sturgeon,  Nahma, 
Said  to  Ugudwash,  the  sun-fish. 
To  the  bream,  with  scales  of  crimson, 

"  Take  the  bait  of  this  great  boaster. 
Break  the  line  of  Hiawatha !  " 

Slowly  upward,  wavering,  gleaming, 
Rose  the  Ugudwash,  the  sun-fish. 
Seized  the  line  of  Hiawatha, 
Swung  with  all  his  weight  upon  it. 
Made  a  whirlpool  in  the  water, 
Whirled  the  birch  canoe  in  circles, 
Round  and  round  in  g-urgling  eddies, 
Till  the  circles  in  the  water 
Reached  the  far-off  sandy  beaches, 
Till  the  water-flags  and  rushes 
Nodded  on  the  distant  margins. 
But  when  Hiawatha  saw  him 
Slowly  rising  through  the  water, 


HIAWATHA'S  FISHING.  91 

Lifting  up  his  disk  refulgent, 
Loud  he  shouted  in  derision, 
"  Esa !  esa  !  shame  upon  you  ! 
You  are  Ugudwash,  the  sun-fish, 
You  are  not  the  fish  I  wanted. 
You  are  not  the  King  of  Fishes  !  " 

Slowly  downward,  wavering,  gleaming. 
Sank  the  Ugudwash,  the  sun-fish. 
And  again  the  sturgeon,  Nalima, 
Heard  the  shout  of  Hiawatha, 
Heard  his  challenge  of  defiance, 
The  unnecessary  tumult, 
Rinfjino;  far  across  the  water. 

From  the  wliite  sand  of  the  bottom 
Up  he  rose  ^\dtli  angry  gesture. 
Quivering  in  each  nerve  and  fibre, 
Clashing  all  his  plates  of  armor. 
Gleaming  bright  with  all  his  war-paint ; 
In  his  wrath  he  darted  upward. 
Flashing  leaped  into  the  sunshine. 
Opened  his  great  jaws,  and  swallowed 
Both  canoe  and  Hiawatha. 

Down  into  that  darksome  cavern 
Plunged  the  headlong  Hiawatha, 
As  a  log  on  some  black  river 
Shoots  and  plunges  down  the  rapids, 
Found  himself  in  utter  darkness. 
Groped  about  in  helpless  wonder. 
Till  he  felt  a  great  heart  beating, 
Throbbing  in  that  utter  darkness. 

And  he  smote  it  in  his  anger, 
With  his  fist,  the  heart  of  Nahma, 


92  HIAWATHA'S  FISHING. 

Felt  the  mighty  King  of  Fishes 
Shudder  through  each  nerve  and  fibre, 
Heard  the  water  gurgle  round  him 
As  he  leaped  and  staggered  through  it, 
Sick  at  heart,  and  faint  and  weary. 

Crosswise  then  did  Hiawatha 
Drag  his  birch  canoe  for  safety. 
Lest  from  out  the  jaws  of  Nahma, 
In  the  turmoil  and  confusion, 
Forth  he  might  be  hurled  and  perish. 
And  the  squirrel,  Adjidaumo, 
Frisked  and  chattered  very  gayly. 
Toiled  and  tugged  with  Hiawatha 
Till  the  labor  was  completed. 

Then  said  Hiawatha  to  him, 
"  O  my  little  friend,  the  squirrel, 
Bravely  have  you  toiled  to  heljD  me  ; 
Take  the  thanks  of  Hiawatha, 
And  the  name  which  now  he  gives  you  ; 
For  hereafter  and  forever 
Boys  shall  call  you  Adjidaumo, 
Tail-in-air  the  boys  shall  call  you  !  " 

And  again  the  sturgeon,  Nahma, 
Gasped  and  quivered  in  the  water. 
Then  was  still,  and  drifted  landward 
Till  he  grated  on  the  pebbles, 
Till  the  listening  Hiawatha 
Heard  him  grate  upon  the  margin, 
Felt  him  strand  upon  the  j)ebbles. 
Knew  that  Nahma,  King  of  Fishes, 
Lay  there  dead  upon  the  margin. 

Then  he  heard  a  clang  and  flaiDping, 


HIAWATHA'S  FISHING.  93 

As  of  many  wings  assembling, 
Heard  a  screaming  and  confusion, 
As  of  birds  of  prey  contending. 
Saw  a  gleam  of  light  above  him, 
Sliining  through  the  ribs  of  Nahma, 
Saw  the  glittering  eyes  of  sea-gulls, 
Of  Kayoslik,  the  sea-giills,  peering, 
Gazing  at  liim  through  the  opening. 
Heard  them  saying  to  each  other, 

"  'T  is  our  brother,  Hiawatha  !  " 

And  he  shouted  from  below  them, 
Cried  exulting  from  the  caverns  : 

"  O  ye  sea-gTills  !     O  my  brothers  ! 
I  have  slain  the  sturgeon,  Nahma ; 
Make  the  rifts  a  little  larger. 
With  your  claws  the  openings  widen, 
Set  me  free  from  this  dark  prison, 
And  henceforward  and  forever 
Men  shall  speak  of  your  achievements, 
Calling  you  Kayoslik,  the  sea-gulls, 
Yes,  Kayoslik,  the  Noble  Scratchers  !  " 
And  the  ^vild  and  clamorous  sea-sfulls 
Toiled  with  beak  and  claws  together. 
Made  the  rifts  and  openings  wider 
In  the  mighty  ribs  of  Nahma, 
And  from  peril  and  from  prison. 
From  the  body  of  the  sturgeon. 
From  the  peril  of  the  water. 
They  released  my  Hiawatha. 

He  was  standing  near  liis  wigwam, 
On  the  margin  of  the  water, 
And  he  called  to  old  Nokomis, 


94  HIAWATHA'S  FISHING. 

Called  and  beckoned  to  Nokomis, 
Pointed  to  the  sturgeon,  Nalima, 
Lying  lifeless  on  the  pebbles, 
With  the  sea-gulls  feeding  on  him. 
"  I  have  slain  the  Mishe-Nahma, 
Slain  the  King  of  Fishes  !  "  said  he  ; 
"  Look  !  the  sea-gulls  feed  upon  him, 
Yes,  my  friends  Kayoshk,  the  sea-gulls ; 
Drive  them  not  away,  Nokomis, 
They  have  saved  me  from  great  peril 
Li  the  body  of  the  sturgeon. 
Wait  until  their  meal  is  ended. 
Till  their  craws  are  full  with  feasting, 
Till  they  homeward  fly,  at  sunset, 
To  their  nests  among  the  marshes  ; 
Then  bring  all  your  pots  and  kettles, 
And  make  oil  for  us  in  Winter." 

And  she  waited  till  the  sun  set. 
Till  the  pallid  moon,  the  Night-sun, 
Rose  above  the  tranquil  water. 
Till  Kayoshk,  the  sated  sea-gulls, 
From  their  banquet  rose  with  clamor, 
And  across  the  fiery  sunset 
Winged  their  way  to  far-off  islands, 
To  their  nests  among  the  rushes. 

To  his  sleep  went  Hiawatha, 
And  Nokomis  to  her  labor. 
Toiling  patient  in  the  moonlight. 
Till  the  sun  and  moon  changed  j)laces, 
Till  the  sky  was  red  with  sunrise. 
And  Kayoshk,  the  hungry  sea-gulls. 
Came  back  from  the  reedy  islands, 
Clamorous  for  their  morning  banquet. 


HIAWATHA'S  FISHING.  95 

Three  whole  days  and  nights  alternate 
Old  Nokomis  and  the  sea-gulls 
Stripped  the  oily  flesh  of  Nahma, 
Till  the  waves  washed  through  the  rib-bones, 
Till  the  sea-gulls  came  no  longer, 
And  upon  the  sands  lay  notliing 
But  the  skeleton  of  Naluna. 


STANDARD  AND  POPULAR 

3li6rarp  25oDfe^ 

SELECTED  FROM  THE   CATALOGUE   OF 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  CO. 


/^  OlSfSIDER  what  you  have  in  the  smallest  chosen 
library.  A  compafiy  of  the  wisest  and  wittiest  me7i 
that  could  he  picked  out  of  all  civil  countries^  in  a  thou- 
sa?id  years,  have  set  in  best  order  the  results  of  their 
learning  and  wisdom.  The  me7i  the77iselves  were  hid  a7id 
inaccessible,  solitary^  inipatie7it  of  i7iterruptio7is,  fe7iced  by 
etiquette ;  but  the  thought  which  they  did  not  tmcover  to 
their  bosom  frie7id  is  here  writte7i  out  i7i  tra7ispa7'e7it 
words  to  us,  the  stra7zgers  of  a7iother  age.  —  Ralph 
Waldo  Emerson. 


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Among  the  Isles  of  Shoals.     $1.25. 
Poems.     $1.50. 
Drift-Weed.     Poems.    $1.50. 

Henry  D.  Thoreau. 

Walden.     i2mo,  $1.50. 

A  Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merrimack  Rivers.     $1.50. 

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Life,  Letters,  and  Journals.     Portraits.     2  vols.  Svo,  $6.00. 
Cheaper  edition.     2  vols.  i2mo,  I4.00. 


Standard  and  Popular  Library  Books.     15 
J.  T.  Trowbridge. 

A  Home  Idyl.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
The  Vagabonds.     i6mo,  $1.25. 
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History  of  Charles  XII.    Crown  8vo,  ;?2.25. 

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George  E.  Waring,  Jr. 

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•   The  Bride  of  the  Rhine.     Illustrated.    $1.50. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner. 

My  Summer  in  a  Garden.     i6mo,  $i.co.    Ilhistrated.    $1.50. 

Saunterings.     iSmo,  $1.25. 

Back-Log  Studies.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

Baddeck,  and  that  Sort  of  Thing.     $1.00. 

My  Winter  on  the  Nile.     i2mo,  $2.00. 

In  the  Levant.     i2mo,  $2.00. 

Being  a  Boy.     Illustrated.     $1.50. 

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William  A.  Wheeler. 

Dictionary  of  the  Noted  Names  of  Fiction.    $2.00. 

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Works.     Critical  Essays.    6  vols.,  $9.00 

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1 6     Ho7ighton,  Mifflin  and  Go's  Catalogue. 

Leslie  Goldthwaite.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
We  Girls.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  ^T.50. 
Real  Folks.     Illustrated.     i2mo,  $1.50. 
The  Other  Girls.     Illustrated.     121110,^1.50. 
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Odd  or  Even.     I1.50, 
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Pansies.     Square  i6mo,  $1.50. 
Just  How.     i6mo,  $1.00. 

John  G.  Whittier. 

Poems.     Hoicsehold  Edition.     Portrait.     $2.00. 

Cambridge  Edition.     Portrait.     3  vols,  crown  8vo,  $6.75. 

Red- Line  Edition.     Portrait.     12  illustrations.    ^2.50. 

Diamond  Edition.     i8mo,  $1,00. 

Librajy  Edition.     Portrait.     32  illustrations.     8vo,  ^4.00. 

Prose  Works.     Cambridge  Edition.     2  vols.  $4.50. 

John  Woolman's  Journal.    Introduction  by  Whittier.    $1.50. 

Child   Life  in  Poetry.     Selected  by  Whittier.     Illustrated. 

$2.25.     Child  Life  in  Prose.     $2.25. 
Songs  of   Three   Centuries.     Selected  by  J.  G.    Whittier. 

Household  Edition.      i2mo,   $2.00.      Illustrated  Library 

Edition.    32  illustrations.     ^4.00. 

Justin  Winsor. 

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^1.25. 

A  catalogue  contaifiing  portraits  of  many  of  the  above 
authors.,  with  a  description  of  their  works,  will  be  sent 
free,  on  application,  to  any  address. 


YB  37035 


541689 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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